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Washington : 



snL iieft)id jJi'ciiifa of tl\e r i\evoltitioi\ 5 



IN FIVE ACTS, 



INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD, 



PRICE, 50 CENTS. 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

No. 128 Broadway, 

NEW YORK. 

78 









Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, 

By Ingeesoll Lockwood, 

In the Office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington. 



7 o ^Proprietors and Managers of Theatres : 

Consent to publicly perform or represent this drama, 
in whole or in part, may be obtained from the author 
upon reasonable terms. 



X 



CHARACTERS. 



•OK WASHINGTON, Commander-in-Chief of the American Armies. 
Henry Knox, 
. Greene, 
[s de La Kayette, y His Generals. 

BEX, 

(Benedict Arnold, 

A.lkx. Hamilton, Colonel and Aid-de-Camp. 
awes Caldwell, the "Fighting Parson." 
Iauv "Washington, Mother of George. 
kf artha Washington, Wife of George. 
Margaret Arnold, Wife of Benedict. 
fANET, her attendant. 
tVir.LiAM, Washington's body-servant. 



)■ Slaves on Washington's Estate. 



HRIS, 
ItOLL, 

Lottie, 

An Old Soldier. 

A Country Maiden. 

Soldiers, Body-guard, Slaves, Attendants, Chorus of Children, etc. 



1775. 

ACT FIRST. 

Mount Vernon. — A Eeception-Koom. 

SCENE FIRST. 

Chris. — Now, look aheah, you wimmin folks jis clar out 
an mind you bizness ; go way dar, I tell ye, go way, don' 
ye heah ? Shoo fly ! 

Cad. — Shan't do it ; you jis better git about yer own 
bizness. 

Moll. — Don' ye suspec' dat us wimmin folks want to 
see Massa Washington all dressed up in his unicorn an 
appleletters, hey, you man Chris? You shoo fly, your- 
sef! 

Chris. — Ya, ya ! Massa Washington ! jes heah dat she 
darkey talk? Why woman, haint you got no common 
sense under dat wool ob yourn no how ? Massa Wash- 
ington ! Massa Washington ! Ya, ya ! I'se shamed ob 
you. Go 'way ! Go peel dose taters. Massa Washing- 
ton ! Why didn't Massa Washington go up to Philum- 
adelphy and been got done made a gin'ral ob de armies 
ob de whole kentry ; all de people ob de norf an' an' all 
de gemmen ob ole Virginny ? 

Lot. — Look aheah, you man, Chris ; you jis shut up 
dat fly-trap ob yourn an' go finish you scrubbin' ; d' ye 
heah me, sah ? You got too much brains for one darkey's 
head altogedder, sah, altogedder, I say. 

Others. — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Lot. — You jes answer me dis crestion. 



8 

Chris. — All right, gal ; discharge your blunderbuss ; 
I'll gib you all de inflamation you want. 

Lot. — Is Massa Washington goin' to fight 'ginst de 
king? 

Chris. — In course he is, you she lunatic ; and he is 
goin' to gib him de biggest shakin' up he's had since he 
was a born chile ! 

Others. — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Lot. — Well, did de king 'pint massa Washington a 
gin'ral ? 

Chris. — Ya, ya ; why no ; you done gone crazy fo' 
shuah ! 

Lot. — Well, den, who did- 'pint him gin'ral? 

Chris. — Who, who, you escaped lunatic asylum, you — 
what's de crestion ? who did 'pint him ? 

Others. — Yes, darky ; who, who ? 

Chris. — Why, why, de — de — 

Others. — Ya, ya, dat's de crestion ; gib us yer inflama- 
tion, darky ? 

Chris. — Why, de members ob de — de — 

Others. — Ya, ya ; dat's zackly de crestion. 

Lot. — Look aheah, darkey, you go finish dat scrubbin'. 

Cad. — Whar's dat inflamation, chile ? Who made 
Massa Washington gin'ral ? dat's the crestion to be dis- 
solved, ya ya ! 

Chris. (Taking off his hat and looking up.) — Tore God, 
gals, I belieb some one up dar did it. 

Cab. (at the door). — Hark! heah come Massa Wash- 
ington fo' shuah. 

Chris. — Call him Gin'ral Washington, you crazy luna- 
tic ; stan' back from dat do', let me come fust ; now, 
gals, when he open de do' ebery one ob you call him 
Gin'ral Washington. • 

Door opens, William, in uniform, walks in pompously. 

SCENE SECOND. 

Others. — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Wm. — Look aheah, what you darkies loafin' aroun' dis 
do' fo', hey? Moll, you go peel your taters, an' Chris, 
go finish dat scrubbin 1 ; you let' dat scrub'-brush right in 
my way, mos' spile de polish on my shoe. 

Chris. — Say, Bill, chile, whar's de gin'ral, hey ? 



Wm. — Look, aheah, darky, who you call Bill ? I isn't 
Bill any mo', I'se William, de giu'ral's milumtary ser- 
vant. Call me William, else don' ye speak to me, d'ye 
heali ! 

Others.- — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Chris. — Well, William, de gin'ral's milumtary servant, 
whar am de gin'ral, tell us dat, chile ; dat's what's de 
matter wid us. 

Wm. — Go way wid yer foolin', de gin'ral is gibbin his 
distractions to de oberseer ; me an' de gin'ral we leab 
fo' de Norf right away ; don' ye see I'se all ready fo' the 
journey, so now go finish dat scrubbin' an' take dat pail 
an' serub'-brush out of de hall-way, don' ye heah me 
chile? 

Cad. — Ya, ya ; look ,'iheah, youngster, you're too big 
for dose close ob yourn, you was, for shuah ; you better 
let dat coat out behind or dere'll be disruption for 
shuah. 

Cuius. — Take car dere, boy ; tenshin, company ; sojer 
arms; ya, ya! say, gals, don't ye tink I'd make a good 
sojer, hey ? 

Wm. — Go finish dat scrubbin'. 

Others. — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Chris. — Oh, Bill — 'sense me, sah, William, de gin'ral's 
milumtary servant, when will de gin'ral be down ? we 
want to see him all in his — his unicorn and appleletters. 

Wm. — Ya, ya ! 

Chris. — We want to say "Good mornin', Massa 
Gin'ral Washington." 

Wm. — Ya, ya, darkey, you clea,n gone crazy, fo' shuah. 
Don' ye know what de gin'ral will say to you ? 

Chris. — No, I don't, Bill, for shuah; hope to die if I do. 

Wm. — Why, he'll say, " Chris, go finish dat scrubbin'. ' : 

Others. — Ya, ya, ya ! 

Cad. (at windnoio). — Look aheah, gals; jis look aheah, 
quick ; see dose sojer men on horseback comin' up de 
lane, all in their unicorns ; see deir knives hangin' by 
cleir sides. 

Chris. — Knives ! Ya, ya ! Go way, gal; dem is deir 
swords. 

Moll. — Heah dey come lickety split, four ob dem. Ya, 
ya! Harrah fo' old Yirginny an' all de rest ob de people ! 



10 

Wm. — Olar out dare, you darkies ; dem is de odder 
gin'rals what's goiu' to 'scort me and Gin'ral Washing- 
ton up Norf to shake up dose British boys. Clar out dar, 
I say. Take away dat broom, Moll. Hurry up dar, 
Chris; pick up dat scrubbin'-brush. Shoo, 'way wid 
you, ebbery one ob you. 

Chris. — I say ,Biil, don' you tink I'd better call de 
gin'ral ? 

Wm. — Clar out, chile ; what's de matter ? Done gone 
crazy fo' shuah. I'll call de gin'ral mysef after I receib 
the gemmin. [Servants go. 

Enter Knox and Greene, with their aids. 

SCENE THIR,D. 

Wm. — Dis way, gem men ; walk right in h.eah. if you 
please ; dis way. I'se de gin'ral's milumtary servant ; 
my name is William, gemmen. 

Greene. — We are not too late, are we ? The general 
has not left for the North, I hope. 

Wm. — Will de gemmen be pleased to 'proach de side- 
board for a little 'freshment ? 

Knox. — What, has the general left Mount Yernon? 
Why, they told us at Alexandria that he had not passed 
through there. 

Wm. — Will de gemmen please 'proach de side-board. 
De geu'ral has some werry fine cider, bottled it himself, 
gemmen ; dat is to say, me and de gin'ral bottled dat cider. 
Step dis way, gemmen, werry fine, fo' shuah! 

Greene. — No, no, my good fellow, we've no time. If 
the general has set out for the North, we must follow 
him at once. 

Wm. — Beg you' pardon, gemmen, you 've plenty ob 
time to drink a glass ob de gin'ral's cider ; we don't leab 
fo' de Norf fo' one hour yet. 

Knox, — Ha, ha ! this fellow is good. His brass but- 
tons have turned his head. 

Greene. — Then the general is still here ? 

Wm. — Well, no sah, not zackly heah, sah ; he's werry 
tickerly engaged, sah, gibbin his distractions to de ober- 
seer. 

Knox. — We are in time then, gentlemen. Say to him 



11 

that General Greene and Gen. Knox have arrived, and 
await his pleasure. 

Wm. — Sorry, sah ; can't do it, gemmen, no how. De 
gin'ral gib me werry tickler orders not to 'sturb him. 

Greene. — There'll be no harm done, my good man ; 
the general expects us. 

Wm. — Sorry, gemmen, but my orders, sah, are not to 
protrude upon de gin'ral under no skircumstances, no 
how. [A bell rings, he darts out of the room. 

Knox. — Ha, ha, ha ! This fellow's brass buttons will 
be the death of him. Did you notice how he strutted 
about ? 

Greene. — He's the general's military servant, no doubt. 
He'll wear his uniform more gracefully after a few 
months' service. 

Knox. — I hope we shall not be delayed, general — the 
• morning is cool, we can put thirty miles behind us at a 
.single stretch. 

Greene. — No, no, not a third of it ; we must spare our 
horses, for we've a long journey before us. 

Knox. — True, general, but in these soul-stirring times 
it is a difficult matter to restrain one's ardor. Would 
that we were in sight of brave old Boston this very mo- 
ment ! 

Greene. — Ha, ha, ha ! But hark, I hear footsteps 
coming this way. 

William throws open the door. 

Knox. — Yes, it's the general. 

Enter Washington. {They salute.) 

SCENE FOURTH. 

Gen. Wash. — My dear generals, here's welcome, wel- 
come to Mount Vernon ! 

{To the aids.) — Your servant, gentlemen. 

Greene. — We wish you health and happiness, general. 

Knox. — And a bright and glorious career. 

Gen. Wash. — I thank you, my friends ; I thank you 
from my heart. I am about to undertake a mighty task 
and can only cry : Heaven speed the right ! But, tell me 
gentlemen, what news do you bring from the North ? 

[Motions to seats. 



12 

Greene. — Oh ! stirring news, general, stirring news ! 
The few red stains of Lexington and Concord have been 
washed from our remembrance by a deluge of the dear- 
est patriot blood, shed in a glorious battle before Boston ! 

Gi£N. Wash. — What ! That handful of militia with- 
stand the onslaught of veteran troops ! This is indeed 
stirring news ! 

Greene. — Ay, general, 2,000 of the best British troops 
were repeatedly repulsed by a smaller number of provin- 
cials, hungry and thirsty, armed with their rifles and 
fowling-pieces and clad in their homespun, country 
garbs ; one-half of the enemy were either killed or 
wounded ! 

Gen. Wash. — Splendid, splendid! general, you have 
lifted a fearful weight of doubt and solicitude from my 
heart. With a just cause and such men as these to defend 
it, the liberties of our country are safe ! But let me hear ' 
the particulars, my dear general ; where was the battle 
fought ? 

Greene. — Before brave old Boston ! On the night of 
the 16th our troops had taken possession of Bunker's 
Hill and thrown up a line of earth-works. At dawn the 
British discovered their position and made preparations 
for a general assault. The patriots were ordered to re- 
tain their fire until the red-coats were within thirty paces. 
Then, at the word " fire !" a tremendous volley burst forth 
and the assailants fell back in confusion. But they ral- 
lied and advanced within pistol shot, when another volley, 
more destructive than the first, threw them into confusion, 
and a retreat was ordered ! 

Gen. Wash. — Well, well, was that the end? 

Greene. — Oh, no, general, they were rallied and a 
second time repulsed. Kifles, muskets and fowling-pieces 
were leveled against the royal troops, with deadly aim. 
The British commander, at one time, stood alone upon 
the field, all his officers being either killed or wounded. 
The carnage was terrible! The regulars fell back in 
dire disorder, some even rushing into their boats. 

Gen. Wash. — And then? 

Greene. — And then, after a pause, the British again 
ascended the hill to storm the redoubt. Our men poured 
forth repeated volleys with the fatal aim of sharp-shoot- 



13 

ers. The British stood the first shock, but the second 
and third staggered thein. In vain their officers threat- 
ened, implored, ay, even attempted to goad them on with 
their swords ; the havock was too deadly ; whole ranks 
were mowed down ; they broke and tied ! 

Gen. Wash, {rising). — Glory enough for a single day. 
And so our men held the redoubt against them ? 

Greene. — No, general, the enemy now perceived that 
we had exhausted our ammunition and orders were given 
to carry the earth-works at the point of the bayonet ! 
Then ensued a desperate and deadly struggle, hand to 
hand, with bayonets, stones and the stocks of muskets. 
Our soldiers retired slowly and in good order, disputing the 
ground inch by inch, undismayed, amid the thunder of 
artillery, the bursting of bomb-shells, the sharp discharges 
of musketry and the shouts and yells of the assailants. 

Gen. Wash. — Why, general, I shall have an army of 
veterans to take command of. But tell me, I beg of you, 
who were the brave officers that made our men do such 
brilliant service? 

Knox. — Ah ! general, there was a host of them. The 
veteran Prescott and the dauntless W 7 arren, brave old 
John Stark and glorious old Putnam, were there ! With- 
in ten minutes after the cry of blood rose from the field 
of Lexington, Stark was in his saddle, spurring towards 
Boston. And that grand old patriot Putnam hurried to 
Boston at the first news of British violence. The mes- 
senger found him in the field ploughing, assisted by his 
son. In an instant the team was unyoked, the plough 
left inthe furrow, the lad sent home to give w r ord of his 
father's departure, and the splendid old patriot, on horse- 
back, in his working garb, urging with all speed to the 
camp at Bunker's Hill. He did glorious service. Bid- 
ing about on that sultry day, with his sword buckled 
across his brawny shoulders, he was a leading spirit 
throughout the straggle. Calm amid the storm of bat- 
tle, his voice cheered the men on like the sound of a 
trumpet. Sword in hand, he rode to the rear of our re- 
treating troops, regardless of the balls whistling about 
him, and cried out to them : " Halt ! Make a stand 
here. We can check them yet. In God's name, form 
and give them one shot more !" 



14 

Gen. Wash. — Brave old man ! I heard of him years ago. 
He is a true patriot, honest and fearless, and if God 
spares his life will yet do glorious service for his coun- 
try. I long to grasp the old farmer by the hand. We 
shall need such men ; for, believe me, there is no retreat 
for us now but that which leads to shame and dishonor. 
And think you our countrymen will ever tread that path? 

Greene and Knox. — Never, general, never! 

Gen. Wash. — I pray heaven they never may ! But their 
souls will be sorely tried, for proud England is a stub- 
born foe, and will wring dear blood from dearest hearts 
ere the end shall come ; and therefore I am preparing 
to bid a long farewell to my beloved Mount Vernon. 
But, gentlemen, I crave your pardon. The glorious 
news you are bearers of made me quite forget that I am 
a farmer still and can give you a farmer's cheer (rings). 
I pray you go and refresh yourselves. I'll join you 
presently. 

Greene and Knox. — Your servants, general. 

Gen. Wash. — William, conduct the gentlemen to the 
dining-room ; let Christopher attend them, and you re- 
turn to me. 

SCENE FIFTH. 

Gen. Wash, (solus). — One thousand British soldiers 
killed and wounded ! We are rebels now in earnest, and 
England's king will show us no mercy. Ay, and now 
the shades of our brothers fallen on the fields of Lex- 
ington and Concord cry unto us no more ! We have 
given them sleep. 

SCENE SIXTH. 

Wm. (re-entering). — The gemmen are at the table, 
gin'ral. 

Gen. Wash. — Ah, William, I forgot to tell you. I 
ride Valliant, you know ; have you saddled him ? 

Wm. — Yes, gin'ral. 

Gen. Wash. — Are his eyes bright — his hide sleek ? 

Wm. — Ay, gin'ral, bright as buttons — slick as a 
ribbon. He has been callin' you fo' half an hour. I 
tola him all about leabin' ole Virginny fo' de Norf ; he 



15 

werry proud to dink dat you chewsed him out ob all do 
odders ; dey werry jealous, I tell you, gin'ral. 

Gen. Wash. — Look well to the girths, William. And 
William 

War. — Yes, gin'ral. 

Gen. Wash. — Don't let Valliant be alone ; he might 
chafe himself against the t} T ing-post. 

Wm. — No danger, gin'ral ; dat horse nebber cuts 
up no shines no how. I dink dat horse been to school 
somewhar, fo' shuah. Bress my soul, ef he only knewed 
his letters how he would speak right out and say : " Look 
out dar, William; don't rub me too hard wid dat curry- 
comb." 

Gen. Wash.— Oh, William ! 

Wm. — Yes, gin'ral. 

Gen. Wash. — Is my mother in her apartments? 

Wm. — Yes, gin'ral ; I dink she are, fo' shuah. 

Gen. Wash. — Say to her that I ask permission to 
pay my respects ; that I leave for the North at once — no, 
don*t say that, William ; the first will do. 

Wm. — Yes, gin'ral [going. 

Gen. Wash. — Poor lady ! her heart is brave and 
strong, and yet 'tis hard to rob it of its peace and com- 
fort. 

Wm. (re-entering). — Too late, gin'ral, too late — here 
comes Missus Washington now. 

(Enter Mary Washington.) 

SCENE SEVENTH. 

Gen. Wash. — Why, mother, how is this ? 'Tis wrong 
in you. 
The stair-way wearies you so much. I had 
This moment sent to say that I would wait 
Upon you. 

Mary.— Has not Mary Washington 
The right to wait upon her country's chief — 
The general of its armies ? 

Gen. Wash. — Were I ten 
Times general, I am still your son ! 

Mary. — Ay, more. 

Dear George, you never were a child. Man from 



16 

The first, 3-011've been my trusted counsellor 
And staunch support. 

Gen. Wash. — What I have been to you, 
Mother, I still shall be. Each week will bring 
You tidings from the North. 

Mary. — Ah, George, your voice, 

Your smile, your presence; these are light and warmth 
To my aged heart. I am too old to live 
On hope ! My son, my son ! I ne'er may look 
Upon your face again ! 

Gen. Wash. — " Oh say not so, 
Mother ! Think of the past and its adieux, 
And how I came each time, from ocean, camp 
And wilderness, in safety back to home 
Again. 

Mary. — The dangers, then, were few, and in 
Those days I wore a stouter heart within 
My breast ! But now, now — oh, George, my son, 
Will heaven ever let me clasp your hand 
Again ? 

[Leads her to a seat. 

Gen. Wash. — Ay, mother, have no fear; there's that 
Within my heart tells me I'll come again. 
I do not seek to know what time alone 
Can solve ; but from my boyhood, when in camp 
Or forest, peril seemed most imminent 
And life locked arms with death and wrested for 
The mastery, the warm blood never left 
My cheek. I know not why, nor do I make 
My boast thereof, but when returning from 
Venango, thro' the wilderness, my guide, 
With sudden treachery, turned round and fired 
His rifle at my breast, I never quailed, 
But stood so firm and motionless that my 
Companion thought me dead ! And when, upon 
The next ensuing. day, embarked upon 
The Alleghany's flood, the ice fell fierce 
Against our raft and hurled me headlong in 
The angry stream, no fear seized on my heart ! 
The torrent, roaring in my ears, seemed like 
An old friend's voice, and stirred my blood until 
Each sinew grew as strong as iron, and I 



17 

Was saved ! And lastly, mother, when upon 

Ill-fated Braddock's field, amid the shower 

Of iron and leaden hail, the piteous cries 

Of wounded men, and savage war-whoop loud 

Above the din and roar, I calmly rode 

About and cheered our panic-stricken troops, 

With vain endeavor sought to stem the rout 

And hold the savage enemy in check, 

I never thought of fear ! The bullets pierced 

My clothes and killed two horses under me ; 

And when I saw our men turn from their guns 

And seek the woods for safety, I sprang from 

My horse, and wheeling round a field-piece toward 

The Indians, scattered death among their ranks ! 

And still I stood unharmed upon that field 

Of blood, so that the superstitious chiefs 

Cried to their warriors : " Turn your rifles 'way, 

For the Great Spirit is protecting him !" 

Mary. — Ah, George, my son, but now the times are 
changed. 
Then you were shielded by proud England's might ! 
Now you've unsheathed your sword against your king. 

Gen. Wash. — Nav, madam, nay ! My king no more ! 
The slight 
Allegiance that 1 owed this monarch once 
His tyranny absolves me from forever ! 

Mary. — Oh, these are woful, woful days for wives' 
And mothers' hearts ! My boy, my boy, you know 
The strength of England's troops ; you know the power 
Of England's gold, and what have we to lean 
Upon except our honor and our God ? 

Gen. Wash. — Mother, we have the glorious conscious- 
ness 
That we are right, and if that cannot steel 
Our hearts against all fear of England's gold 
And England's soldiery, then, truly, are 
We only fit to be King George's slaves ! 

Mary. — God send us help! And yet, my noble son, 
On your dear head will fall the royal wrath 
Should England drive the patriot army from 
The field. You are the rebel chief ! You are 
The leader of the patriots who have dared 



18 

Kesent the measures of the English crown 
And fire upon the royal troops ! Altho' 

Shere be forgiveness for the rest, there'll be 
o pardon for my son. 

Gen. Wash. — (sitting down and taking her hand.) 
Let no such thought give trouble to your heart. 
Mother, I know my countrymen ; if I 
Am beaten in the North, it will avail 
Them naught ! The mountains of the West shall be 
My refuge then ; I know each path and road, 
Each stream and valley. There the patriot chiefs 
Will gather round me ! Putnam, Knox and Greene, 
With Schuyler, Stark and Wayne, and there we'll make 
A desperate stand for Freedom. Driven out 
From there, we'll cross the Alleghany ridge ! 
The forest and the flood, the mountains and 
The wilderness shall be our allies ! There 
We'll keep the fire of Freedom burning on 
The mountain tops, and now and then rush down 
On our oppressors like an avalanche 
'Till England's mercenary hordes shall dread 
Our very names! 

Mary. — Amen ! Amen ! 

Gen. Wash. — And now, 

My mother, fare you well ! Oh, be assured 
I'll ever wear your image in my heart. 
Can I forget how much I owe your love ? 
If I have aught in me that fits me for 
Command, and gives me power o'er men, I learned 
It here ! Your eyes, your voice, your manner taught 
It me ! Ay here it was, here at your knees 
That I first learned to love the sacred cause 
For which I now unsheath my sword ; and if 
I serve my native land with honor, lead 
My countrymen to victory or fall 
In glorious conflict for our rights, to you, 
Mother, be all the praise, to you be all 
The honor due ! 

Mary. — George ! George, my son, my boy, 

A mother's blessing and a mother's prayer 
Be ever with you till the end ! Be firm, 
Be good, be true ! 



19 

Gen. Wash. — I will, I will ! (A trumpet sounds.) Hark, 
there, 
Mother, my escort has arrived ! Come, you 
Shall waive your son a last adieu ! 

Mary. — Stay, George ; 

Here are some faithful souls, who wait to speak 
Their hearts' farewell, and cry " God speed !" Come in, 
Come, one and all. Here, faithful creatures, is 
The man whom you all love so well ! 

[The slaves rush in and group about Wash- 
ington, some kneel, some clasp his hands. 

All. — Farewell, Massa Washington ! Good bye ! 
God bless you ! Farewell, dear Massa ! 
Good bye ! 

Gen. Wash. — Farewell ! farewell ! 
Greene and Knox appear with their aids ; also Wil- 
liam, ivith W.'s hat and cloak. 

Mary, {advancing and handing Washington his sword.) — 
Kemember me ! 

Gen. Wash.— Mother ! 

Curtain on Tableau. 

End of Act the First. 

or 

The scene may be drawn aside, disclosing Tableau of 
Americas Guardian Angel descending and blessing Wash- 
ington. 



20 



1778. 
ACT SECOND. 



Valley Forge — Camp-scene in Winter — Day -break — Sen- 
tinels posted in front — Snow Storm. 

SCENE FIRST. 

Sent, (sings.) 

I. 
Tramping, tramping slowly to and fro, 

Dreaming of the loved ones far away ; 
Watching, watchdog 'mid the falling snow, 
Longing for the coming of the day. 

[Reveille sounds in distance. 
(Soldiers' Chorus within.) 

Don't ye hear the reveille ? 

Rouse ye, comrades every one ! 
We shall march to victory, 
With the noble Washington ! 

II. 
Sent. — Searching, searching heaven for a star 
Thro' the weary watches of the night, 
Hearing, hearing voices from afar, 
Telling tales of visions once so bright. 

[Reveille and chorus. 
ill. 
Sent. — Yearning, yearing for a word of cheer 
From a voice of dear familiar sound ; 
Downward, downward, many a burning tear 
Falling with the snow-flakes to the ground. 

[Reveille and chorus. 



21 



SCENE SECOND. 



Enter Steuben at the head of an awkward squad. 

Baron. — Yuri cloo, vim doo ! Halt ! Himmelsacra- 
nient, vat for you valk on your next door neighbor for 
ven I said halt ? Couldn't you shtood shtill mitout dat, 
hey ? Now make me attention to vat I shall say. i Front ! 
Sacristie ! Kreuzdonnerwetter ! Now, look at dose 
vooden heads mitout no praius! Damn their eye, dey 
have doo fronts and no pehinds ! Now, make me atten- 
tion, &c. Order arms ! Kreuzdonnerwetterhimmel- 
sacrament ! Yat for you smash your gun mit his big toe ? 
Now, shoulder arms ! Dats vos peen ferry goot. Now, 
right face ! Mon Dieu, mein goodness gracious ! Sacra- 
ment ! Now joost look at dose vooden heads, damn their 
eye ! Yos you peen left-handed mit your right foot. Hey? 
Kreuzdonnerwetterhimmelsacrament. Now, ven I said 
vorwarts, I mean shtood still. Poot, ven I said for- 
warts march, den I mean gommence. Now, make me at- 
tention veil ! All gommence mit der right-hand foot ! 
Forwarts ! Shtop ! Shtood shtill ! Kreuzdonnerwet- 
ter ! mille tonneres ! sacrament ! damn their eye ! they shall 
make me out of patience ; dey shall make me cross, and 
I will be a mad dog. Now, ven I said front, all come to- 
wards me — Halt! halt! shtop! shtood still ! Yen I said all 
come towards me, I mean all shtay dere,and steeck your 
nose towaf ds me, dish way. Who dat laugh in de ranks ? 
Damn his eye, if I catched him, I struck my sword mit 
der pasementvon his preeches ! {To a recruit.) Yyyou 
not shtood up straight, hey ? Yat vos peen der matter 
mit you, schaffskopf ! vooden head ! How you gall your 
name? 

Recruit. — Ebenezer Pretty man ! 

Baron. — Lieber Gott ! Dat name vos peen a tarn lie. 
How you vos peen got named dat, hey? I dinks your 
father and mutter must have peen got plind mit both 
eyes ven you vos peen got porn. [To another recruit.) 
Yy you n^t holt dat gun straight oop ? Yat vos peen 
your name ? 

2d Rec. — Jimmy. 

Baron. — Shimmy ? Yos dat peen your front name or 
your pehind name ? 



22 

Reo. — Jimmy Jakes. 

Baron. — Shimmy Shakes. Yell, Shimmy, durn your 
toes out or you felled ou your nose mit the ground. Now, 
make me attention, all. VenI said forwarts, I mean shtoocl 
shtill ; put ven I said forwarts, file right, march ! Halt, 
halt, shtop, &c. Kreuz, &c, you shall make me lose my 
patience. Damn their eye, I vosn't peen got ready yet. 
I only make fun. Now make me attention all. Yen I 
said forwarts, file right, march, den you durn and follow 
de man on de end mit der plue nose and red eye like de 
goose ven dey promenade. Now, make me attention, all, 
forwarts, file right, march ! (Confusion.) Halt ! halt ! 
stop ! stop ! shtood shtill ! Yere is my freund Whiting ; 
he shall come and help me swear at dose vooden head ! 
dose nigauds ! dose sheepsheads ! damn their eye ! dey 
shall make me lose my patience ! I shall be sorry. Kreuz- 
donnerwetter, &c, I shall have a red nose to eat mit 
Shenerai Yashington ; dake dem avay, sergeant dake 
dem avay. Kreuzdonner wetter, &c, I could not swore 
at dem any more. I shall have a red nose for dinner mit 
Shenerai Yashington ! [He goes; recruits follow. 



SCENE THIRD. 

1st Sol. — Ha, ha, ha ! The old Baron has got thro' 
swearing for this morning ! 

2d Sol. — Hark ye, comrade. I thought the General 
had forbidden the use of profane language in the army? 

1st Sol. — So he has, when you swear in English, but 
the Baron swears in French and German, and so he 
doesn't disobey orders ! 

2d Sol. — Ha, ha ! He is a kind-hearted, generous old 
man, anyway, and the boys only laugh when he swears 
at them. 

Parson (outside). — Salutation and greeting ! 

1st Sol. — Ha, ha ! Here comes the rousin' gospel 
preacher. 

2d Sol. — Here comes the fighting parson ! 

Enter Parson, tviih huge sword, rifle and pistols. 



23 



SCENE FOURTH. 



Parson. — Salutation and greeting to the Soldiers of 
Gideon's Band ! Kemember our bonds ! 

All. — Good morning, parson, good morning. Hurrah 
for the fighting parson — hurrah for the yousin' -gospel 
preacher ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily ; even as Gideon slew the Medi- 
anites and as Samson smote the Philistines, hip and 
thigh, so shall we fall upon the enemies of our country! 
Kemember our bonds ! 

1st Sol. — What's the news, parson ? Tell us the news. 

Parson. — Yea, verily! Remember our bonds! The 
Philistines are encamped within the walls of our fair city 
of Philadel-phia-a ! And the leaders thereof are feasting 
therein and filling their stomachs with savory dishes and 
richly-flavored meats and viands, that are exceeding 
pleasant and wholesome to the palate, yea, verily ! But, 
be not cast down, oh Gideon's Band, for when they have 
eaten and drunken and are full, then, verily, in that self- 
same hour, shall come forth a man's hand and write upon 
the plaster on the wall : "Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin!" 
And this is the interpretation of the thing : Mene, mene ! 
ye Philistines, verily ye have awakened the wrong custo- 
mer ! Tekel ! Ye are too light a weight to cope with him ! 
Upharsin ! Verily he will inflict grievous injury upon thy 
frontispiece ! 

All. — Ha, ha, ha ! Hurrah for the fightin' parson ! 
That's the talk, Parson Caldwell ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily — remember your bonds ! for 
though you be grown as leau-fleshed as the seven lean 
kine of Egypt, and taste defeat as bitter as the waters 
of Marah, yet shall ye smite the Hessians, the Hano- 
verians and the Brunswickers, even as Joshua smote the 
Hittites, the Jebusites and the Perizzites, even as Samuel 
smote Agag and hewed him in pieces at Gilgal ! even as 
Jael smote the nail into the head of Sisera, so shall we 
smite England's tyranny under the fifth rib, and it shall 
die. Yea, verily — remember your bonds ! 

All. — Three cheers for the rousin' gospel preacher j 



24 

Hurrah for the fighting parson ! That's the talk, Parson 
Caldwell! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, remember your bonds ! for 
I say unto you, brothers, that the British king com- 
manded us to make bricks, yet gave us no straw, and 
sent task-masters over unto us, saying : Go, get your straw 
where you can find it ; yet not aught of your work shall 
be diminished ! Yea, verily, King George hath hardened 
his heart, and the great city of London has become like 
Nineveh of old, wherein were more than six score thou- 
sand persons that could not discern between their right- 
hand and their left-hand ! Yea verily, remember your 
bonds ! 

All. — Ha, ha, ha ! Hurrah for the rousin' gospel 
preacher — good, good ; that's the talk, parson — pitch into 
'em, give it to 'em ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, remember your bonds ! for our 
enemies have hardened their hearts and will not listen 
unto the words of wisdom and reason, and therefore I 
say unto you, take pages from the proverbs of Solomon, 
and leaves from the pages of Dr. Watts, and use thereof 
for wad, that in the end we may shoot wisdom and good 
understanding into the hearts of our enemies ! Yea, verily, 
brethren, remember your bonds. 

All. — Ha, ha, ha ! good, good ; that's the talk Parson 
Caldwell ! Good for the fightin' parson ; we'll give 'em 
Dr. Watts ; we'll shoot the proverbs into 'eml Ha, ha, 
ha, ha! 

3d Sol. — Ho, there comrades ! Peace ! peace ! The 
general is coming this way ! fall back ! fall back ! 

1st Sol. — No, no, stand fast, comrades ! The general 
loves his children, and likes to have them about him ! 

Long live George Washington ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, remember your bonds ! but be 
not cast down, and raise not up your voices in sore and 
bitter lamentation, for verily I say unto you, that even as 
Joshua cried out in the sight of Israel : " Sun, stand thou 
still upon Gibeon, and Moon stay thou in the valley 
of Aijalon," so even hath George Washington cried unto 
England's king : "King, thou slialt rule no more over us. 
Depart, thy tyranny is ended forever !" 



25 

All — Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Good for the 
fightin' parson — good for the rousin' gospel preacher. 
Three cheers for Parson Caldwell. Ha, ha, ha ! 

1st Sol. — See, comrades, the general's sweet wife is 
with him ! God bless Martha Washington! 

All- -So say we all ! 

Parson. — Amen ! So mote it be. Eemember our 
bonds. 

1st Sol. — Fall back, comrades ; fall back, I say. 
They'll pass this waj r . Fall back, there. • 

2d Sol. — No, no ; Martha Washington loves the sol- 
diers, too. 

3d Sol. — Ay, ay ; she braves the hardships of Valley 
Forge to cheer us up. God bless her ! 

Enter Washington loith his wife and generals. 

SCENE FIFTH. 

All. — Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Hurrah ! {Music.) 

1st Sol. — Long live General Washington ! 

2d Sol. — Long live our brave commander! (Cheers.) 

1st Sol. (to a country maiden). — Fall back, there, wom- 
an ! Where are ye goin' ? Haven't ye any manners? 

Maiden (to Mrs. W.). — Please, gracious lady, deign to 
read this paper. Good lady, please help a poor girl ! 

Martha. — Don't kneel to me, good woman. What 
can I do for you ? 

Madden. — Oh, I'm over head and ears in trouble, gen- 
erous lady. This is my Ebenezer, and pie ise, madam, 
the officer says he will not grant no leave of absence to 
no man, no how. (Weeps.) 

[Martha hands petition to Gen. W. 

Martha. — Poor wouian ! George, may not her prayer 
be granted ? 

Gen. Wash. — I hope it may, my gentle wife, since you 
have pitied her. Gentlemen, I need a trusty counsellor 
to stand impartial in this matter. 

La F. — Choose me, dear general. I'll be firm and 
just. 

Gen. Wash. — No, no, marquis, you are too young. 
What answer coald you make to all these tears ? Come 



26 

baron, your soldier's heart is well entrenched and 
strongly garrisoned. I refer the petition to you. 

Baron (advancing). — Veil, voman, vat you vant ? 

Maiden. — Please, sir, this is my Ebenezer ? 

Baron. — Parbleu, I have been got veil acquainted mit 
him ; he tidn't knowed his right-hand foot from his left. 
Veil, vat vill you make mit your Ebenezer ? 

Madden. — Please, good sir, I want to take him home 
with me. "We were going to be married three months 
ago, but Ebenezer, he got his dander up. 

Baron. — Vat, vat — vat — vat vas dat peen, hey ? 

Maiden. — I mean, he got all fired mad at me 'cause I 
danced with Aminadab Crane at Mehitable Johnson's 
apple peelin', and so — and so — he went — he went — and 
'listed as a soldier-boy — he did — to — to break my heart. 

Baron. — Veil, if he make not loaf besser als he make 
de soldier, I advised you took de odder man. 

Maiden. — Please, sir, marin said as how I was sure to 
bring him back with me, as how the cider was gettin' 
too hard to drink, and pop said as how Ebenezer might 
come back to his company after two, or three, or four or 
five months. 

Baron. — Mein goodness gracious, woman, tidn't he 
have got a country to fight for, hey ? 

Maiden— Please, sir, I know my Ebenezer will fight 
better for his country when he has a wife to fight for, too ! 

Baron. — Oh, took him along. I cannot talk mit a 
voman ! 

Solds. — Ha, ha, ha, ha ! 

Maiden. — God bless you, sir. God bless you. You 
shall have a piece of the wedding cake, sir. Come, 
Ebenezer. 

Eben. — Long life to you, sir ! 

Solds. — Long live Baron Steuben ! Ha, ha, ha ! 
Enter Hamilton. 

SCENE SIXTH. 

Ham. — General, our scouts bring us important news. 
Gen. Wash. — From Philadelphia ? 
Ham. — Yes, general, the enemy are preparing to evacu- 
ate the city ! 



27 

Gen. Wash. — Thank Heaven for this bloodless victory ! 
Now, gentlemen, we've work upon our hands ! 
The winter's .over, the hills will soon be green 
Again, the highways free from ice and snow. 
Nature no longer wars upon us ! Come, 
Let's pledge anew our lives, our fortunes and 
Our sacred word, that England ne'er shall rule 
This land again ! And let our war-cry be : 
" Our country must and shall be free !" And if 
The British dare recross the Jersey plains 
Embarrassed with their cumbrous baggage trains, 
We'll fall upon their flank and strike them such 
A grievous blow that all the sorrows of 
This dreary camp shall be that day forgot ! 
Meanwhile, dear marquis, with two thousand of 
Our chosen men, approach the city, rout 
Their plundering bands, and when their army moves 
Press hard upon their rear ! Be cautious, be 
Alert, and keep me well advised of all ! 
Remember, La Fayette, my friend, two worlds 
Are watching you ! 

La F. — My dear commander, be assured I shall do my 
duty like a soldier, and if need be, die like one ! Farewell ! 

Geo. Wash. — Farewell, and God be with you ! 

Voices (outside). — Hurrah ! Hurrah ! Long live Gen- 
eral Arnold ! Long live the gallant leader ! 

Geo. Wash. — What? Arnold? Do they not cry : Long 
live Arnold? Surely the wounded soldier does not 
come to share with us the miseries of Valley Forge ? 

Greene. — Ay, general, here he comes, dragging his 
wounded limbs along ! 

Enters Arnold on crutches, pale and haggard. 

SCENE SEVENTH. 

Geo. Wash, {advancing). — Arnold I'm joyed to see you 
on your feet 
Again, but fear you've ventured forth too soon ! 
Your sword has carved a glorious record, you 
Must live to keep it ever bright and pure ! 

Arnold. — My dear commander, need I tell you how 
A soldier's spirit chafes and galls beneath 



28 

Enforced response? But when thereto you add 
Neglect, you give the nettle double sting ! 

Gen, Wash. — Ah, friend! is that wound open yet? I 
swear 
To you, you have no cause to murmur thus. 
Your wrongs are all imaginary ; think 
No more of them ! Does not your country love 
And honor you ? A3 7 , name you 'mong her sons 
Best loved ? Be generous as you are brave ; 
For by high heaven, Arnold, I'm your friend, 
And he my enemy who dares to say 
There lives a braver, truer man than you ! 

Aenold. — Dear general, were wrongs piled triple-deep 
Upon my heart, your words would sweeten all 
The gall they could press out ! You know I love 
My country well, and tho' my countrymen 
Scoff at my services and say my wounds 
Were got by chance, I swear they shall not sour 
Me into discontent ! I say I love 
My country, and with her I rise or fall ! 

Gen. Wash. — Arnold, I never doubted you, but still, 
Lest evil tongues say that mine actions war 
Upon my words, I have determined thus : 
The royal troops — so do our scouts report — 
Have roused themselves at last and shaken off 
The stupor of their winter's rest. This means 
Retreat without a shot against our works. 
But they shall not escape me thus ! I'll strike 
Them ere they reach New York. You shall command 
The left wing of my army, battle by 
My side and share the glory of the day. 

Aenold. — Ah, General ! my noble, generous friend, 
I love my country, but look on me now 
And say, when I shall mount my horse again. 

Geo. Wash. — Arnold, I know your heart as well as tho' 
I wore it in my breast! I see, my friend, 
What British lead, and all the hardships that 
Attend, on war, have wrought upon your frame ! 
But I can stir the old fires till thy blaze 
Again ! For I can cry : " See, Arnold, see, 
The British drive our men before them ! Throw 
Yourself upon their flank, roll up their line 



29 

And save the day!" Come life, coine death, you'd cast 
Your crutches 'way, forget your wounds and leap 
Upon your horse in answer to my call ! 

ARNOLD. — Ah! dear commander, yes; you're right, I 
say 
I love my country, but my fighting days 
Are past — perhaps forever past — for blood 
Is blood ! I've emptied all my vigor out! 
I was, perhaps, a little reckless, too ; 
For scores of times, so has my spirit boiled 
And raged to see those hirelings shooting down 
My men, that with a blood-hound's fury I 
Have rushed upon their ranks, and felt myself 
More like a beast than man, so did I thirst 
For blood ! But then I loved my country, and 
I knew that I must rise or fall with her. 
Discretion flew to all the winds ! But now, 
My dear commander, look upon my face ; 
I am uot what I was. I'm broken, am 
I not, from too much use ? But still I say 
I love my country, and with her I rise 
Or fall ! But now, I must have rest — rest — rest ! 

Gen. Wash. — Kest, Arnold, rest ? There will be rest 
for none 
Until our work is done and England's king 
Says we are free ! Kest, Arnold, rest— was that 
Your word? By Heaven, sir, had other lips 
Said, " Arnold asks for rest," I would have thought 
They lied ! 

Arnold. — And yet I love my country, dear 
Commander. You know that ; but blood is blood! 
No doubt I've been a little reckless now 
And then. It was no fault of mine but of 
The cause I love to serve — the glorious cause 
Of liberty ! And now I ask for rest 
Until my vigor comes again, and I 
Can cast aside these helps and be myself 
Once more. 

Gen. Wash. — It is accorded, sir. You have 
The right to ask for rest. I will be just : 
You are entitled to it ; go, my friend, 



30 

Regain your health and strength. Then bring your 

sword 
To me, and I will give you work, Arnold. 

Arnold. — Why, general — sir, you wrong me. I do not 
Desire such rest as that. You wrong me, sir. 
Inglorious indolence ! I'd rather die 
Than rest like that ! Give me some post to guard, 
A garrison command somewhere, that calls 
For sleepless watchfulness ! You know, my dear 
Commander, no one loves his country more 
Than I ; and this my country hath of late 
Herself confessed. Is not my horse the gift 
Of Congress ? Ay, and these the epaulets 
Your hand bestowed on me ? They are the badge 
Of your regard and confidence. I feel 
My heart beat lighter while I have them on. 
I therefore ask, if you do still confide 
In me, some quiet post of h nor, — say, 
West Point. The mountain air will soon restore 
My health. In truth, that mountain fastness is 
A post of honor. 'Tis our Gibraltar rock. 
To Freedom's column, Nature's pediment ! 
To lose it would imperil — I almost 
Had said — bring death to Freedom's holy cause. 

Gen. Wash. — Ay, Arnold, that is true! that's very 
true ! 

Arnold. — But, dear commander, why, if you would 
have 
Me nearer you, why, then some other post — 

Gen. Wash. — No, no, no, Arnold; no! Of late my thoughts 
Have clung with strange persistency 
To this important post of ours. Our scouts . 
Report of late large reinforcements to 
The British troops within New York. They'd strike 
A desperate blow to gain West Point, if but 
Success with faintest glimmer beckoned on. 
I cannot sleep so do these thoughts oppress 
M3- mind. My friend, I'm glad you've asked me for't ; 
I'm very glad. 'Twill give me peace of mind 
To know that you command this post of ours. 



31 

So, then, dear Arnold, rest your wounded limbs 
And be content. West Point is yours ! 
Arnold (aside). — At last! 

Noise and confusion outside. Enter Officer. 

SCENE EIGHTH. 

Off. — A dangerous mutiny has broken out among 
the troops. They've seized their arms, and demand an 
audience with the Commander-in-Chief! 

Greene. — Insolence! Are my Khode Island troops 
among the mutineers ? 

Off. — No, sir ; not a man. 

Greene. — Then all is well ! General, give me leave, 
and I will quell this mutiny with an iron hand ! 

Gen. Wash. — Sir, what is the cause of this outbreak? 

Off. — The old one, general, hunger ! Our supplies 
failed yesterday. Our men are crazed from cold and 
destitution. 2,000 out of 11,000 are sick or helpless 
from frozen hands or limbs. They incite the rest to acts 
of desperation. As yet the mutineers have not harmed 
their officers ; but no one can tell how long their forbear- 
ance may endure. 

2d Off. {entering). — The revolt is spreading ; the 
Eastern troops threaten to join the mutineers ; our camp 
is in disorder and confusion ; they warn their officers 
not to interfere ! Their cry is : " Let us march to the 
general's headquarters ! " 

Greene. — This is infamous, general. 

Gen. Wash. — I'll go and talk with them ! 

Martha. — Oh George, I implore you, do not risk your 
life. The troops are maddened to despair— they might 
forget themselves ! 

Greene. — At least, dear general, go armed ! {offers his 
pistols). 

Gen. Wash. — Not even with this ! {hands his sword to 
an aid). I'll fight them with the love they bear me ! 

1st Off. — Here they come ! Here they come ! 

2d Off. — Be careful, general ; let me call your 
guards ! 

[The soldiers rush in. 



32 



SCENE NINTH. 



Soldiers. — Bread ! Bread ! Justice ! Justice ! 

(Arnold seizes his crutches in one hand and rushes for- 
ward.) 

Geo. Wash,— Halt ! 

1st Sol. — General, we come for bread ! 

2d Sol. — We'll fight, but we will not starve ! 

3d Sol. — Give us our rights ; we demand them ! 

Gen. Wash. — Silence ! Throw down your arms, or I will 
not hear you speak ! {They obey.) 

Old Sold, (adv.u.cinj). — You see, general, we stand 
with our hearts, and not our weapons in our hands ! 
Look upon me ! I am an old man, whose breast and 
limbs are scarred from forty years hard service against 
the French and Indians. I stood beside you on Brad- 
dock's bloody field, and saw you ride unharmed amid 
that storm of leaden hail — and I loved you. Do we not 
all love jon ? These are my poor comrades ; my chil- 
dren, as I call them. But must we starve, freeze, die 
from want and exposure ! I am a poor old man. I left a 
son at Bunker's Hill, another on Saratoga's field, and 
here (pointing' to a bier which they advance) lies my third 
boy, whom I dragged from his mother's arms four years 
ago! 

[G. W. covers him ivith his cloak. 

Old Sol. — Ah ! clear commander, that cloak of all 
others in this world would warm my -boy's heart, but now 
it is too late, for he is dead ! 

Gen. Wash.— xDead ! 

Old Sol. A3 7 , dead, from cold and hunger ! 

Gen. Wash, (uncovering — all do likewise. The parson 
kneels) : 

Oh Father, hear, we call upon Thy name ! 

For these are heavier blows than England strikes. 

Let not despair brood o'er this wintry camp 

And shut the cheerful light of Heaven out ! 

Oh give us hearts to bear these things, and make 

Us worthy of the sacred cause we serve ! 

Parson. — Amen ! So mote it be ! Yea, verily ! Ke- 
member your bonds, oh soldiers of Gideon's band ! (A 
pause.) 



33 



SCENE TEN. 

Enter Messenger, 

Mess.— Important despatches for the commander in- 
chief. 

Gen. Wash. — Bead, Hamilton. 

Ham. — Here's glorious news, general ! The king of 

France has sent a fleet and 4,010 men to our assistance ! 

[The soldiers cheer and toss their hats. 

Parson (verylovd). — Halleluiah^ halleluiah! remem- 
ber your bonds! 

Gen. Wash. — Heaven be praised and La Fayette be 
thanked for this. 

Arnold (aside.) — A despot for an ally ! and yet they 
call this a contest for freedom ! 

Gen. Wash. — Return to your quarters, men. Your 
wants shall be relieved at once. Be patient and all will 
yet go well. 

[They cheer. 

(To Ms officers.) To horse, gentlemen ! 

[He passes out leading his wife by the hand, — 

his generals follow. 

Solds. — Long live George Washington ! loug live 
the king of France ! hurrah, &c, 

[Cannon, music, cheering. 

Arnold (aside). — And so the sacred cause of freedom 
will be polluted by a tyrant's sword ! 

Parson, (singing and dancing). — Yea, verily, brothers, 
sound the sackbut, psaltery and dulcimer ! strike the 
cymbals and blow the trumpets ; lift up your voices and 
be exceeding glad, for verily, verily the tidings from be- 
yond the seas are full of joy and gladness ! remember 
your bonds ! 

Solds. — Hurrah, hurrah for the rousin' gospel 
preacher, hurrah for the fighting parson ! Ha ! ha! ha! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, brothers ! now we'll make it hot- 
ter for the English king than JSTebuchadnezzer did for 
Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego ! yea, verily ! 

Solds. — Ha! ha! ha! good, good, that is the talk, 
parson. Ha ! ha ! ha ! 

Re-enter Washington on horse followed by 
Ids generals and body-guard. 



34 



SCENE ELEVENTH. 






Solds. — Long live George Washington! long live 
our dear commander ! hurrah ! hurrah ! hurrah ! 

[Cannon and music. 

Gen. Wash, (to Arnold). — Arnold, I'll send you more 
men ! Farewell ! Heaven protect you and West Point. 

Parson. — Amen ! so mote it be ! yea, verily, remember 
your bonds ! 

[ Washington and his generals ride out amid the cheers 
of his men, the firing of cannon and waving of hats. 

End of act the 2d, or scene mav be withdrawn and 
tableau of " Washington crossing the Delaware" disclosed. 



35 



1780, 



ACT THREE 



Beverly Manor House, West Point. 
scene first. 

A breakfast- room looking out upon the river. — Mrs. Arnold 
arranging flowers. 

Mrs. A. — Janet, I must have a French flag to place by 
the side of ours in this vase. 

Janet. — I saw one lying on the mantel ; yes, here it is, 
madam. 

Mrs. A. — Thank you, good Janet — there the lillies of 
France and the patriot colors are side by side. The 
gallant Marquis de La Fayette shall see that we thought 
of him. 

Janet. — Dear madam, how your hand trembles ! 

Mrs. A. — Good Janet, I'm weary before the day is 
begun. 

Janet. — Twice last night, madam, you started up in 
your sleep clasped me around the neck and cried " my 
child ! my child ! " 

Mrs. A. — Ah, yes, faithful Janet, it was a weary night 
for me. I dreamt some one had stolen my babe from 
me! 

Janet. — How strange ! But come, let me order up 
breakfast ; you must eat something, dear mistress ; it 
must be an hour before General Washington arrives. 

Mrs. A. — No, no ; I'll wait for my husband, at least ; 
why, 'tis past his hour now. Hark ! Janet, I hear foot- 
steps. I know them, too ; they are his. (Springing joy- 
ously forward.) Benedict! 



36 



SCENE SECOND. 



Enter Arnold. 

Arnold. — Why, Madge, what's the matter? 

Mrs. A. — Oh, nothing, only I'm so glad you've come ; 
that's all. Why don't you kiss me ? This is the first 
time you've seen me this morning, Benedict. 

Arnold (kissing her). — There, there, there, you're a 
good child ; go. 

Mrs. A. — Shall we wait breakfast any longer, Bene- 
dict? 

Arnold. — Yes, wait. 

Mrs. A. — "lis past the hour General Washington 
named in his message to us. Have you been over the 
fortress this morning, Benedict ? You look so tired. 
Let me order a cup of coffee for you. 

Arnold. — No ; I want nothing. Janet ? 

Janet. — Gen eral. 

Arnold. — Remove those flowers. 

Mrs. A. — Benedict ! 

Janet. — Why, general, our lady arranged them with, 
the greatest care. 

Arnold. — Take them away, their odor oppresses me. 
(She leaves the flags.) No, no, them too ! You may go. 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, are you not feeling well? Has 
anything gone wrong ? 

Arnold.— Why, Madge ! Ha ! ha ! ha ! What an 
idea ! J'm well enough. Come now, don't look so earn- 
est, sweet Madge. Janet provoked me with her flowers 
and flags. 

Mrs. A.— Why, Benedict, I 

Arnold. — There, there, Madge, never mind the flow- 
ers. Come, don't look so serious ; I have not heard you 
laugh, I have not seen you smile, this morning. There, 
there, you are chiding me with your eyes again. Now, 
that's better ; that's more like my gentle Madge. 

Mrs. A. — Dear husband, please God that I should 
never grieve you. Come, let me lay your hat and gloves 
aside. (Arnold starts upon seeing that he has forgotten to re- 
move them.) You will surely not cross to the Point until 
after breakfast. Benedict ! husband ! (Arnold stands 



37 

plunged in thought.) (Aside.) Merciful Heaven ! what has 
happened to him ? He did not hear me speak. (Load.) 
Benedict ! 

Arnold (startled). — Well, well, well, Madge ! I'm here. 
I'm here, my darling ; all will yet go well. 

Mrs. A.— All, Benedict ? Why ? What ? 

Arnold. — Nothing, nothing, my child, my darling 
Madge, my sweet wife. Nothing at all, nothing at all. 
Ha ! ha ! ha ! By the way, sweetheart, I have — I have 
news for you. There, there, now don't look at me as if 
— as if I had been — doing wrong ! Madge, my darling, 
your friend Major John-r- Andre 

Mrs. A.— What of him, Benedict ? 

Arnold. — Oh, nothing — ha ! ha ! — nothing at all ; sim- 
ply this : you admired him, and — and — I'm told his so- 
ciety is very attractive ; that he is an accomplished gentle- 
man — that he is a sincere friend of yours. 

Mrs. A.— Well ? 
♦ Arnold. — Oh, nothing, Madge, nothing, only — that we 
may see him before long. 

Mrs. A.— See him, Benedict ? Why, where ? 

Arnold. — Where, Madge, where ? Why at New York, 
of course. 

Mrs. A.— At New York, Benedict? What do you 
mean ? Has the government received news from Eng- 
land ? Are we to have peace ? 

Arnold. — Peace, Margaret ! who speaks of peace V 

Mrs. A. — Why, husband, how else shall we see Major 
Andre at New York ? 

Arnold. • - How else, how else, Margaret ? (Sinking up- 
cn a chair.) (Aside.) Oh, God ! I cannot tell her ! (To his 
wife.) Come, come, be frank, my darling Madge ; your 
friendship for Major Andre — that is — confess that you 
would be delighted — 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, what is this mystery ? I implore 
you. 

Arnold. — Margaret, I am your husband. Come, come, 
true loy,e casteth out all fear. If you love me, let your 
answer spring from your heart, not from your lips. 
There, there, darling Madge, there is no harm done. I 
know of your love for Major Andre. 

Mrs. A.— Benedict! 



38 

Arnold. — I love him myself — that is, from what I have 
heard of him. I don't chide you for it. I learned it 
from a hundred mouths in Philadelphia. You were 
young and beautiful; he the favorite of his general — 
courted, petted, admired for his talents and bravery. It 
was very natural — ha ! ha ! ha ! Madge — it was very nat- 
ural that you should have captivated each other. I 
don't chide you for it. Madge, Madge, my sweet pet, 
you shall see your friend again soon, soon, ay, very 
soon. 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, Benedict, in heaven's name, what 
do you mean ? You are so changed — your voice, your 
manner. Look in my face, speak to me, tell me what 
you mean ? AVhy do you talk to me of Major Andre ? 

Arnold. — Hark yOu, Margaret, you cannot deceive 
me. I know of your love for John Andre ; I have it 
from a hundred mouths, ay, from your own lips. 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, Benedict, I conjure you, as you 
are my husband, as you are the father of my child, have* 
done with this cruel taunting. 

Arnold. — Take care. Margaret ; don't anger me. Do 
you deny that you ever loved John Andre ? 

Mrs. A.— Why should I deny what I freely confessed 
to you when you asked me to become your wife ? You 
know the story of that love, Benedict — its joy and its 
despair, how I refused to follow Andre to New York. I 
showed you my heart ; I let you gaze upon its wound, 
that you might judge whether I was worthy to be your 
wife. And oh, my brave, my generous husband; you 
trusted me, and only clasped me tighter to your breast. 
Then why do you call up these shadowy forms to haunt 
our peaceful home ? 

Arnold. — Why, why, why, Madge, why ? (Aside.) Be- 
cause I am a fiend. 

Mrs. A. — Calm yourself, Benedict. I will not chide 
you. I will not reprove you ; let us think of other 
things. Come, dear husband, I'll laugh and smile ; you 
shall have no more cause to say that I am sad and 
thoughtful ; the name of John Andre 

Arnold (clutching her by the arm).— S-h— Margaret, are 
you mad ? There is some one coming ; that name might 
be overheard. [ Goes towards door. 



59 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, tell me, I beseech you, what lias 
happened? What is the matter with you? Husband, 
speak to me — 

Arnold. — S-h . 

SCENE THIRD. 

Enter servant. 

Servant. — The Marquis de Lafayette ! 

Arnold. — Ah, marquis, you have come at last ! 

La F. — Good morning, general ! Your servant, mad- 
am. 

Arnold. — Let breakfast be served at once ! 

Mrs. A. {advancing). — Marquis, you are welcome to 
Beverley Manor. 

La F.- -For which I thank you, madame, altho' I'm 
bearer of regrets from General Washington. 

Arnold {eagerly). — The general, marquis, has aught 
happened ? 

La F. — Oh nothing, dear general, you know our com- 
mander's zeal. He made a halt a few miles below here 
to examine some redoubts. General Knox and Colonel 
Hamilton are with him; they request your good lady not 
to wait breakfast for them. 

Mrs. A. — Oh, this is most unkind , I'll soundly repri- 
mand the general for this. Pray be seated marquis, I 
hope your morning ride has given you a good appetite, 
for you see we have nothing but soldiers' fare to offer 
you. 

La F. — If this be soldiers' fare, I like the service better 
than ever ! 

Mrs. A. — My dear marquis, if you wage war as grace- 
fully as you pay a compliment, I'd like to fight against 
you myself ! 

La F. — I'd surrender at discretion, dear lady, in order 
to be nearer the enemy ! 

Mrs. A. — Take care, my gallant marquis, that would 
be desertion ; and if you were ever recaptured, would be 
punished with death ! 

La F. — Provided you did not execute me as a spy ! Ha, 
ha, ha ! But seriously, my dear friends, I have news for 
you. I have just returned from Hartford, where our be- 



40 

loved commander had an interview with the French offi- 
cers. He made an easy capture of their hearts, as I had 
anticipated. In truth, he is the realization of a young 
soldier's dream — hero and patriot, brave and incorrupt- 
ible ! Oh, I shall never forget that scene at Hartford! I 
wish, my dear Arnold, you could have witnessed it ! How 
those countrymen of mine, as if with one impulse, refused 
to make use of a soldier's salutation, but bared their heads 
when George Washington stood before them ! They felt 
within their hearts that they were in the presence of one 
of heaven's warrior-prophets sent to warn the kings of 
earth, and smite them if they disobey ! 

Mrs. A. — My dear marquis, I don't wonder at your 
enthusiasm, for when I witness the love and devotion 
with which our men and officers cling to their command- 
er, I almost wish I had been born a man, that I might 
have served him, and shared their joy ! For be assured, 
my dear marquis, I count myself in nothing more happy 
than in the love he bears my husband! 

Arnold (aside). — Oh, God ! 

LaF. — Ay, dear lady ; of his deep and earnest affection 
'for your husband, none knows better than I ! Nay, nay, 
Arnold, don't turn your face away ; be proud of it ! At 
times when he praises you, I feel the warm blood rush to 
my face ; for we are jealous of each other, dear madam ! 
But, my friends, what stirs my heart most, is the raptur- 
ous delight with which the people receive the general 
when he enters their towns and villages ! On our return 
from Hartford, two da}^s ago, as we entered the suburbs 
of a town at nightfall, the whole population sallied forth 
to meet us. Men and w T omen waved their handkerchiefs, 
and showered their blessings on our dear commander, 
while crowds of children carrying torches, pressed around 
us ! There was no driving the little patriots aw< ay, until 
they had touched the hand of their father, as they called 
him. I was riding beside the general, and saw the tears, 
gather in his eyes ! Suddenly he turned to me, and with 
that warm grasp of the hand he knows so well how to 
give, exclaimed : " La Fayette, we may be beaten by the 
English, it is the chance of war, but there is the army 
they will never conquer ! " 



41 



Arnold (clutching at his throat). — Madge ! Madge ! 
Water, water ! 

Mrs. A. — Merciful heaven, Benedict, what's the 
matter ! 

Arnold. — Oh, nothing, nothing; only a little vertigo. 
There, there, I'm better now. Be seated, my dear mar- 
quis, be seated ; I crave forgivness for alarming you. 
(Enter servant.) 

Servant. — General, there's a messenger below with a 
letter, which he has orders to deliver into your hands ; 
shall I admit him ? 

Arnold. — No, no ; I'll go to him, I'll go to him. 

LaF. — Stay, Arnold, stay ; receive your messenger here; 
meanwhile, with madam's permission, I'll ride down to 
the redoubt below, and learn the cause of the general's 
delay, for I see your good lady is determined to eat 
nothing until he arrives ! 

Mrs A. — You have my leave marquis, for I perceive 
that you are too good a soldier to even exercise your ap- 
petite without command. 

La F. — A soldier cannot be too cautious in the pres- 
ence of the enemy ! Au revoir ! [ Goes. 



SCENE FOURTH. 

Mess, (at the door). — Let me pass, I say ! Where's 
General Arnold? Ah, general, pardon me, but my orders 
were to deliver this letter into no one's hands but yours. 

Arnold.- — Yes, yes, yes; go, go, go ! You see I have 
it — I have it ! 

[Servant goes. 

(Tears the letter open, and staggers backward to a, chair.) 

My God ! I'm ruined ! I'm ruined ! 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, Benedict ; in heaven's name what 
has happened? Speak to me, speak to me ! Oh, my hus- 
band! on my knees I implore you ! 

Arnold. — Madge, Madge ! don't touch me ; don't come 
near me ! You are an angel and I am a fiend ! I have 
dishonored you. I have set the mark of shame and 
infamy on you and our child. You'll call down the curse 
of heaven on me when I tell you what I have done ! 



42 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, my husband, have mercy on me, 
have mercy on me ! 

Arnold. — Oh, God, have mercy on me, Margaret, for 
yon will have none when I tell you all ! I have betrayed 
my country and must fly for my life ! Margaret, Marga- 
ret, your husband is a traitor, and if captured will perish 
on the gallows ! 

Mrs. A. — Benedict Arnold a traitor ? It is false ; it 
cannot be ! You are delirious ; you know not what you 
say. Your reason has fled! There is no love, no 
thought, no soul in your eyes. Merciful heaven, he is 
mad ! 

. Arnold. — Would to God it were true ! But no, Mar- 
garet ; I'm a traitor, and the fiends that worked my ruin 
have abandoned me ! My messenger has been captured, 
and even this moment Washington may know of my plan 
to surrender West Point to the royal troops ! 

Mrs. A. — Oh, Father in heaven, I call upon Thee, for 
this is more than I can bear ! 

\_Reels, and is about to /all. 

Arnold (clasping her in his arms). — Come, Margaret, 
nerve yourself ! There is no time to be lost. A British 
sloop of war is at Verplanks. Let us take our child and 
seek safety beneath the English flag ! 

Mrs. A. — Never ! 

Arnold. — Have a care, Margaret ; you are my wife 
and owe me obedience ! You shall follow me to the 
English lines ! 

Mrs. A. — Never ! 

Arnold.— You are right, 'Margaret. You love the 
country I have betrayed ! I will not drag you down with 
my infamy, Margaret. I release you from your plighted 
word. You are my wife no more ! 

Mrs. A. — Benedict 

Arnold. — Farewell, Margaret ; farewell forever 1 

[Bushes wildly out. 

Mrs. A. — Benedict, Benedict ! Husband, husband ! 
(She strives to follow him, but falls fainting to the floor, then 
rises bewildered.) Where am I? What has happened? 
Benedict, are you there ? Merciful heaven, he is gone ! 



43 

Benedict, Benedict ! Husband, husband, come back ! 
I'll forgive you, Benedict, &c. 

{Staggers out of the room. 
Enter Washington hurriedly, followed by La Fayette, 
• Knox and Hamilton. ' 



SCENE FIFTH. 

Gen. Wash. — How is this, marquis? The house seems 
deserted. What has become of Arnold ? 

La F. — I am at loss to explain his absence, general. I 
left him and his wife here but a few moments ago. 

Gen. Wash. — Strange, very strange. Ring for a ser- 
vant, Hamilton. 

La F. — Ah, now it occurs to me, general, that Arnold 
was complaining of a sudden illness when I left him. 

Gen. Wash. — That may be the explanation, marquis. 
(To the servant.) Well, General Arnold ; where is he ? 

Serv. — He left the house a few moments ago, sir, 
and rode towards the river. I think he has gone over to 
the fortress for inspection. 

Gen. Wash. — Most likely. Inform his good lady of 
our arrival at once. 

Servant. — She has withdrawn to her room, general, on 
account of illness, I think. 

Gen. Wash. — Well, well, gentlemen, this is most un- 
fortunate. Here we are without either host or hostess. 
But pray be seated, for tho' Arnold fights like a lion yet 
he lives like a lord. But see, our good friend La Fayette 
must have breakfasted on smiles and fine phrases. There 
stands his cup of coffee untasted. Ah, you young men 
are all in love with Mrs. Arnold. 

La F. — My dear general do you not recollect a certain 
young Virginian colonel who once loitered in the path of 
duty ; how a whole afternoon passed away like a dream ; 
how the horses were countermanded, and he was not in 
the saddle until the next morning ; how 

Gen. Wash. — My dear marquis, I surrender, I sur- 
render. I didn't imagine you had such heavy artillery. 

Others. — Ha, ha, ha ! 

[Enter messenger breathlessly. 



44 



SCENE SIXTH. 






Mess. — Ah, general, thank God I've found you at 
last ! On my way to Hartford I learned that you had 
left that city and were returning to West Point. I 
turned bridle to overtake you, but your change of .route 
misled me. 

Geo. Wash.— Well, well? 

Mess. — Here are letters and papers from Colonel 
Jameson. 

[Hamilton takes them, i 

Gen. Wash. — Has an attack been made? Have we 
been overpowered at any point ? 

Mess. — All I know is, general, an important capture < 
has been made. 

[Goes, f 

Ham. — Gracious heaven! Arnold has turned traitor! J 

Geo. Wash.— 'Tis false I say ! 'Tisfalse as hell ! I'll not 
Believe the idle tale ! 

Ham. — Here are the proofs, 

My dear commander. Look upon them ; this 
Is Arnold's hand ! 
Gen. Wash. — Now, by high heaven, I swear 

This is some foul conspiracy to ruin 
My friend. I will not look upon the thing. 
I pray } r ou, gentlemen, resume your seats, 
Come, come, our breakfast is untasted yet. 

La F. — Dear general, I do entreat you, give 
Me leave to read : 

" Arnold's accomplice, John Andre, the adjutant-gen- 
eral of the British Army, has been captured within our 
lines, with plans of our fortress at West Point, concealed 
upon his person." 

Gen. Wash. — Show me, show me the proof of this ! Oh 
heaven ! 
I cannot read the lines ; they crawl across 
The page like serpents ! Tell me, La Fayette, 
My friend, is this thing true— is this all true ? 

La F. — Ay general, perchance far more than what 
Is written here. Benedict Arnold has 
Betrayed his country and deserted to 
The enemy ! 






45 

Gen. Wash. — What, marquis, say you so ? 

I Lion-hearted Arnold, glorious hero of 
A hundred battles, idol of his troops, 
| The young Republic's favorite chief, who but 
I Two years ago, when wounded, crippled and 
lllepulsed before Quebec's strong walls, to all 
My dread forebodings gave reply : " I'm in 
The way of duty, and I know no fear !" 
JGh no, no, no, it cannot be. This is 
Rome deep-laid plot of envious men to stain 
BBrave Arnold's fame ! 

La F. — Ah, dear commander, would 

|To heaven it were so! But no, heie are 
jThe damning proofs of this most infamous 
[Design; these letters writ in Arnold's hand, 
jThese plans of West Point found concealed within 
The boots of this young British officer. 

tOh, sir, 'tis infamous, but it is true ! 
Gen. Wash, — Oh gracious heaven, was it then for this 
shielded him from envy's poisoned shaft ? 
Was it for this I trusted, honored, loved, 
This man? Oh, Arnold, Arnold, say, what fiend 
Df hell was throned so high in power, that he 
Could work the downfall of your soul ! 

[Bides his face in his hands. 
Kind Mends, 
'. crave forgiveness. I have said that which 
should have left unsaid. Dear Hamilton, 
live me your hand, and give your pardon w T ith it. 
Ham. — My dear commander — 

Gen. Wash. — Nay, my friend, 'tis past, 

Tis past. I was most rudely shaken ! I 
Had built upon this man, and first it seemed 
Chat all was lost when this staunch prop w T as knocked 
Away ! How t could I tell that love, which twined 
And blossomed so around my heart, would fret 
(And poison thus ? But now, now, now I know r 't ! 
(General Knox, cross over to the post, 
(Assume command ; by nightfall you shall have 
DVIore troops ; post double sentries ; let your men 
Bleep on their arms ! And, general, put none 
Except Americans on guard to-night ! 

\_Knox salutts and- retires. 



46 

Quick, Hamilton, he'll try to pass Yerplanks, 
By heaven, we must not let him do 't ! My horse 
Is at the door — ride him ; spare neither whip 
Nor spur ! Away ! And if the traitor's barge 
Attempts to pass our batteries, sink it ! 
Make Arnold prisoner, dead or alive ! 

[Hamilton salutes and retires. 
Fntcr Mrs. Arnold, folloiced by Janet. 

SCENE SEVENTH. 

Mrs. A. — Merciful father, what do I hear ! 

Janet. — Dear lady, come away, I beseech you ! 

Mrs. A. — No, no, Janet, let me go. I will speak to him. 
Oh, sir; look upon me. I am his wife! If not for my 
sake, then for his child ! Sir, sir, by the love you bear 
your mother, by the love you bear my husband, recall that 
command ! Don't murder your friend ! 

Gen. Wash. — Ay, madam, as he was my friend, I'll 
spare him ; but as he is a traitor — no, not if he were my 
father ! 

Mrs. A. — Oh God, my poor husband ! 

Gen. Wash. — Come, marquis, we must look to our 
prisoner. British gold and stratagem will attempt his 
release ! [ Going. 

Mrs. A. — Marquis ! General ! hear me, hear me ! 

Gen. Wash. — Come, I say, marquis ! Arnold the traitor 
may escape us, but if his conscience be not dead, t'will 
smite him when he hears that John Andrs has met the 
doom of a spy ! 

Mrs. A. (rushing ivildly towards them.) — John Andre a 
prisoner ! John Andre a spy 1 Father in heaven, the 
mystery is solved ! Break, break, break wretched heart ! 

[Falls lifeless to the floor. 

END OF ACT THE THIRD. 

Or, scene may be withdrawn and the " Battle of Mon- 
mouth" disclosed, 






47 



1780. 



^lCT fourth 



Washington's Headquarters at Tappan — Quaint old 
room. Sentinel visible through the window — a 
Storm in Progress. 

scene first. 

William as>eep near the fire-place. Enter Martha Wash- 
ington with a night-lamp.' 

Martha. — I cannot sleep, my thoughts are with the 

i doomed Andre. I hear his voice above the wail of the 

storm, pleading for mercy, mercy ! Oh, these are woful, 

woful times ! What a dreary night is this, and yet it is 

John Andre's last night on earth ! {A noise.) Who's there! 

Wm. — Why dat's me, Missus Washington ! I'se waitin' 

fo' de gin'ral. I clink I was done gone snoozin' fo' shualr 

De gin'ral's berry late to-night?^ Golly molly ! Jis heah 

dat wind whistle up dat chimbly ! Dre'ful cold up heah 

among de Yankees. I wish I was back in ole Yirginny, 

I do, Missus Washington ; snug back in deah ole Mount 

Wernon. Dre'ful cold up heah ! Oh Missus Washington ? 

Martha. — What is it, good William ? 

Wm. — Jis afo' you corned in, while I was done gone 

snoozin', I — I dreamt about dat — dat Major Andrew. 

Martha. — Poor Andre ! 

Wm. — Missus, I fought I seed his face all white, jis 
: like a piece of chalk, an' T fought I seed de big drops 
! rollin' down, down close white cheeks ; and I fought I 
; heardhim say to his muclder : "Don' ye cry, mudder; it'ill 



48 

be all right up dar in the bressed happy land, whar (lev 
don't hab no shootin', no killin', no nonsense ob no kind." 
(A knock.) Oh, golly, molly, what,s dat '? 

Martha. — Bo quick, William ; it may be a messenger 
from the general. 

Mrs. A. (at the door.) — Let me pass. 

Wm. — Hoi' on dar, woman, hoi' on, I say ; go roun' to 
de odder do' ; do you heah me, woman? 

Mrs. A. — Oh, let me pass. Here, take this money. 

Wm. — Look a heah, woman, you can't come in dis do' 
no how. 

Martha. — In heaven's name, William, who is she ? 
what does she want? 

Wm. — She's a werry s'picious pusson, Missus Wash- 
ington. I dink I'll call de guard. 

Martha. — Stay, I forbid it ; let me speak with her. 

Wm. — Take car', Missus, she'll fool you ; she may be a 
man ; dese female fokes very unsartin at 'tickler times. 

Martha. — Oh, never fear, William. Come in ; who 
are you, my good woman ? 

Enter Margaret Arnold. (She motions to have William 
leave the room.) 

Wm. — Take car', Missus, she'll fool you ; she may be a 
man ; don' ye send me away, please ; I don't like de 
looks ob her, no how ; she berry s'picious pusson. 

[Margaret motions Willlim aicay. 

Mar.— Go, William. 

Wm. (going). — Take car', Missus ; dese wimmin fokes 
aint what dey always 'pear to be sometimes. 



SCENE SECOND. 

Mrs. A. (throiuing off her disguise). — Martha Wash- 
ington ! Thank God I have found you at last ! 

Martha. — Woman, speak, who are you ? 

Mrs. A. — Oh, lady, the name I bear is cursed ; I dare 
not breathe it ! 

Martha. — Gracious heaven, you are 

Mrs. A. — Margaret Arnold ! 

Sentinel (outside). — All is well. 

Martha. — Margaret Arnold, unfortunate woman, how 



49 

did you gain admittance here — how did you pass the 
sentries ? 

Mrs. A. — Oh, madam, if my sorrows have touched 
your heart don't ask me how I gained admission here ; 
but tell me quickly, I implore you, do I come too late ? 
have they — have they shot him ? 

Martha. — Shot him ? merciful Father ! what do you 
mean? Can it be that Arnold has been captured? 

Mrs. A. — Arnold, madam, Benedict Arnold is dead. 

Martha. — Dead. 

Mrs. A. — Ay, lady, and buried ; he died of treason 
and is buried beneath his own infamy ; but his victim 
John Andre, speak madam ; he still lives ; I do not come 
too late? 

Martha. — Alas ! the sentence of death but awaits my 
husband's approval. 

Mrs. A. — Father in heaven, save him ! save him ! Oh, 
it cannot be ! The great commander, the pur0, the noble 
Washington will never suffer this innocent man to die, 
for I swear to you, lady, he is innocent. He is the vic- 
tim of Arnold's infamous plot ! 

Martha. — S — h, madam, the walls have ears ! I dare 
not talk with you upon this subject. You must leave this 
place at once ! The general may return at any moment. 
He would not admit you to his presence. I am his wife ; 
I must not listen to what I dare not repeat to him ! 

[Goes toward hell. 

Mrs. A. — Stay, my dear lady, but one moment, I be- 
seech you. Do not fear me ! I swear to you before 
heaven my heart is as pure and free from the blight of 
Arnold's treason as your own. I am an American ! 
Your husband is the leader of my country's armies ; he 
will hear me ; he will not repulse me ; his heart is as ten- 
der as his life is noble and pure! Fear naught, dear 
| lady, you may listen to me — you may, you ma}' ! 

Martha. — In heaven's name, unfortunate woman, who 
I am I, that you should pour your sorrows out to me ? I 
i am a helpless woman, like yourself. My pity and my 
! tears are all that I can give you ! 

Mrs. A. — Oh, lay them at your husband's feet, and I 
• will ask no more! Honored lady, think not it was a 
j blind decree when heaven willed that you should become 

3 



50 

George Washington's wife ! God forbid ! You have a 
holy mission here on earth, to sway your husband's will 
towards mercy's side, lest by one thoughtless act he dim 
the lustre of his glorious name ; for if an act be not 
entirety just, the little wrong that's in it will fester and 
corrupt the whole ! If Andre, clad in patriot's garb, 
crept within our lines, and wore the livery of liberty to 
serve a tyrant in, then he should die ! But no ! Oh no, 
it was not thus ! This widow's son, as gentle as he is 
brave and honorable, was dragged within our lines 
against his will. He would scorn to commit an act that 
merited dishonorable death! And now, and now, my 
country, shamed by Arnold's treason, and angered by 
his escape, turns upon his helpless victim ! Oh, rash in- 
sensate judgment, that thinks to kill a noble soul by 
mere ignoble death ! Andre ! Andre ! the tears of com- 
ing ages will be yours, as mine are now ! 

[She sinks upon her knees beside Martha Washing- 
ton ; a miniature falls upon the floor unseen by 
her. Martha Washington picks the miniature 
up, 

Martha. — Gracious heaven, madam, speak ! What is 
the meaning of this miniature ? You turn pale ; speak, 
can it be ? 

Mrs. A. — Aye, lady, speak the word ; fear nothing, it 
will not startle me ! I do love this doomed man, and I 
am loved by him ! 

Martha. — Margaret Arnold! you, a wife, a mother, 
confess you love this British officer ! God pity you, 
for now the world will never acquit you of your hus- 
band's crime ! His infamy will cling to you ! They'll 
say you were the go-between and lent your grace and 
beauty to ensnare this vain and giddy man for your hus- 
band's infamous uses! God pity you, I say, for the 
world will show you no mercy ! Would I could recall 
the tears I've shed ! Oh, leave me, leave me ! I re- 
quest it ! I order it ; for I despise you ! 

Mrs. A. — Stay ! Stay, madame ; on my knees I entreat 
you, hear me ! 

Martha. — No, no ! it must not be ! I'll hear no more 
Farewell, and God help you ! 

[ Going. 



51 

Mns. A. (drawing a dagger.) — Martha "Washington, an- 
other step, and I'll kill myself at your feet! 

Martha. — Forbear ! 

Sentry (outside). — All is well ! 

Martha. — Bash, impetuous woman, what would you at 
my hands ? 

Mrs. A. — Justice ! 

Martha. — Look to heaven for that ! 

Mrs. A. — Aye, lady, in good time But you condemn 
me ere you hear me speak. 

Martha. — Bethink yourself, madam, where you are, 
and the hour it is. If you have aught to say, oh, say it 
quickly, and begone ! 

Mrs. A. — God bless you, honored lady, for that per- 
mission ! Oh, do not turn away ! I do not fear your 
gaze. Look in my face while I speak, and then you will 
believe me ! (A pause.) Three years ago, the British 
troops driving our army before them, took possession of 
Philadelphia and our poor soldiers, naked and hungry, 
withdrew to Valley Forge; that dreary camp, whose 
hardships you shared with your illustrious husband. I 
lived at my father's home ; he stood neutral, but I was 
heart and soul a patriot ! The British soldiers were wont 
to rally and call me " Fair Bebel Madge," while I re- 
torted with: "Sir Myrmidon," or "Gentle Hireling." 
Among them was John Andre. I liked him not at first. 
I deemed him a heartless trifler, who loved for pastime. 
But one clay as I read to him of the sufferings at Valley 
Forge of our patriot soldiers, dragging their bleeding 
feet over the crusted snow, I saw the tears gather in 
his eyes, and then I loved him ! But the end came soon. 
He asked me to become his wife, and follow the royal 
army to New York. I refused, and bade him wait till 
peace should come. He chid me harshly, and roiled my 
naughty spirit, so we parted. Since then I have not 
seen his face. And now the patriot army came, and 
with it Arnold ! I long had wished to see this man, the 
lion-hearted, " the mad, brave Arnold," so they called 
him. His pale face and deep-set burning eyes made me 
tremble when he spoke my name. There was a strange, 
mysterious power about the man ; voice, manner, gaze 
told of the whirlwind chained within. But I was faith- 



52 

ful to myself, and let him know the secret of my heart. 
I confessed my love for Andre in true and earnest words. 
But Arnold laughed away my fears, called it " school girl's 
fancy,*' said " he'd trust my heart," and I loved him for 
trusting me. And so we reach the bitter end. Hus- 
band, country, honor, all are lost! there's nothing left 
save infamy and shame ! 

Martha (holding out her arms). — And my belief in your 
innocence ! 

Mrs. A. — God bless Martha Washington ! Then you 
do pity me, dear lady, and you will entreat your husband 
to be merciful and spare the life of this poor widow's 
son! I know you will. I see it in your eyes! You'll 
whisper mercy in his ear, so soft and sweet, he'll think 
some angel murmurs it. Oh, father, I thank thee ! A 
flash of hope illumes my heart ! Andre may yet be 
saved ! 

Sentry (outside). — Turn out the guard ! 

Martha.— My husband! Quick, madam, follow me! 
If he learns of your presence here, all hope is dead ! 
Keep up a stout heart, I'll come again ! 

[Conduct* her to side room. 

Mrs. A. — Oh, Heaven, be merciful ! 

Voice (outside). — Present arms ! 

Enter Washington. 

SCENE THIRD. 

Martha (joyously). — Husband ! 

Gen. Wash. — What, Martha, the hour close on mid- 
night, and you watching yet ! 

Martha. — And you, husband, abroad this wild night. 
[ William advances to take his cloak. 
She motions him back. 

Gen. Wash. — Nay, Martha, it's wet ! 

Martha — It's yours ! Come, George, you must be 
weary and hungry, here's food. May I not serve 3TUI ? 
Why do you look upon my face with such enquiring 
eyes? 

Gen. Wash. — And why, Martha, do you look up at me 
with such tearful ones? 

Martha.— Husband ! (A pause.) George, will you 
not eat, may I not serve you ? 



53 

I 

Gen. Wash. Nay, Martha, I will not touch the food 
until I know the cause of your grief-clad countenance! 
Come, gentle wife, what are your sorrows, that I may 
share them and make them lighter? Speak? (A knock.) 
Come ! 

{Eider William.) 
Wm.— Col. Hamilton ! 
Gen. Wash. — Admit him ! 

Enter Hamilton. 

SCENE FOURTH. 

Ham. — I bring the report of the Board of Officers. 
Your instructions were to lay it before you the moment 
I received it. 

Gen. Wash. — I thank you, Hamilton ! What is their 
verdict ? 

Ham. {reading). — "That Major John Andre, Adjutant- 
General to the British army, ought to be considered as a 
spy from the enemy, and that agreeably to the law and 
usage of nations, it is their opinion he ought to suffer 
death. 

Sentry {outside). — All is well! 

[Martha sinks upon a chair, and lades 
her face in her hands. 
Ham. — Will your excellency affix your approval to the 
report to-night ? 

Gen. Wash. — Leave it, Hamilton, and return to me at 
a later hour. 

[ Wash, sits; Martha cd his feet. Hamilton 
salutes and retires. 

SCENE FIFTH. 

Martha. — Oh, George! George! Heaven be your 
guidance in 
This fearful hour ! Be not precipitate. 
Remember who it was conceived this most 
Unholy wrong — your trusted friend ! But heaven 
Hath snatched him from your wrath. He is beyond 
Your rea'ch, and not the death of twenty Andres 
Can add a single torment to his soul! 
Beloved, I know the many virtues that 



54 

Do dwell within your noble heart! Oh, let 
It ne'er be said of you, that mercy, the 
Divinest of them all, was lacking there ! 

Gen. Wash. — Ay, Martha, noble wife, 'tis godlike to 
Forgive ; but I have hearts of flesh and blood 
To battle with : poor, weary human hearts 
That have within them garnered up such strong 
Remembrance of the grievous tyranny 
Of England's king — whose breast is flint, else we 
Had softened it with prayers and tears — that if 
I talked to them of mercy now, I'd loose 
The flood-gates of the people's rage (and spite 
Of all their love for me) be caught up in 
The torrent, and to my destruction hurled! 
Or else, they'd cry: "Remember Nathan Hale!" 
And who does not remember him, and how 
He met his death within the British lines. 
Refused religious comfort, and denied 9 

The use of bible ; all his letters to 
His mother burned before his eyes, and yet 
He spake no word, save to lament that he 
Could die but once, for his dear native land! 

Martha. — Brave heart! He faced an ignominious 
death 
To serve his country, and he fell! 'Twas hard, 
'Twas terrible, but it was just! In deep 
Disguise he left New* York, and passed within 
The British lines ! He was a spy ! 

Gen. Wash, (rising). — In deep 

Disguise, John Andre strove to pass without 
Our lines ! He was a spy ! 

Martha. — At very worst, 

A messenger, no more. 

Gen. Wash. — At very best, 

A messenger of infamy ! Dispatched 
With British gold, to buy what British steel 
Could not effect. 

Martha. He is so young to die ! 

Gen. Wash. — He were far better dead, than live to deal 
With men who sell their native land ! 

Martha. — He is 
A widow's son ! 









55 

Gen. Wash. — Thank God, there'll be but one 

Gray head to bend in sorrow to the grave ! 

Martha.— Oh, hear me, noble husband, hear! You 
know 
The love I bear you ! Hear rne ; heed my words. 
This death will stain the spotless record of 
Your life. Eeflect, beloved ! At least, speak to 
Your countrymen ! Cry " Mercy " unto them, 
And with a gesture of command, awe them 
To silence when they shout for blood ! This much 
The world will sure expect of you ! 

Gen. Wash. — The world 

Is not my judge ! loved Martha ! I appeal 
From earth to heaven ; from man to God ! The world 
Has stoned its prophets, slam its men of pure, 
White souls ; 't will yet excuse Iscariot, 
And write apologies to bleach his crime 
To friendship's whiteness! Ay, the world may weep 
And wring its hands ; but we shall not be moved, 
For we are earnest men, and fight to break 
Our chains, which this base soul would yivet fast 
With fraud and perfidy ! John Andre has 
Polluted Freedom's soil, and he must die, 
For it is holy ground ! 

Martha. — George, George, is there 

No hope for him ? 

Gen. Wash. — There's one can save his life — 
Benedict Arnold ! Let him come and take 
His place and Andre's free ! 

Martha. — Beloved, you are 

So changed ! Why do you bend so fierce a look 
Upon your wife ! You do not love her now 
As you were wont in dear Mount Vernon's groves. 
Oh, hear me, heaven ! give our country peace, 
And me my husband's heart once more. 

Gen. Wash. — You wrong 

Me, gentle wife ! All that I ever was 
That am I still to you ! Tho' these are times 
That sorely try men's souls ; when women's tears 
Fall hot and fast on new made graves, and all 
The air is laden with the breath of prayer ; 
Yet do my thoughts amid the perils and 



56 

The noise of war, unbidden turn to our 

Virginian home where fair Potomac rolls 

His silver waves ! Was it not thus, sweet wife, 

(Resting one knee upon an ottoman) 
I used to make our statures equal, and 
Was it not thus I used to draw you to 
My side ; and was't not thus my heart was wont 
To speak to yours (kissing her), sweet wife, and thus, lest 

you 
Misunderstood ? (kissing her.) 

Martha. — Ay, it was thus (kissing him). Forgive 
Me, dearest, noblest, best of men ! What would 
You have me do ? 

Gen. Wash. — Go rest your weary heart 
And eyes in sleep. 

Martha. — I will ! Good night. 

Gen. Wash. — Good night ! Good night ! 

Sentry (outside). — All is well ! # 

SCENE SIXTH. 

Gen. Wash, (alone). - — He ought to suffer death. No 
more ? Is there 
No greater judgment for so great a crime ? 
Where lies remorse, where lurks despair? Can we 
Not load them on his soul and let him live 
For evermore ? Is death the hardest blow 
That man can strike? Then let it fall at once ! 
The swiftness of the shaft shall lend it weight 
And sink it deeper in his breast ! Quick let 
Me sign ! Call Hamilton ! The sentence is 
Approved ! Let execution follow swift 
And daybreak see the end ! Call Hamilton, 
Good W r illiam ! William ! I am glad he did 
Not hear, for anger must not guide the pen, 
Nor vengeance breathe upon the sad decree ! 
I'll wait till moraiug comes ! I will not sign 
It now ! And yet if it be just, why not ? 
Why not ? (A pause.) I will not sign it now ! 
William ! William ! 

William enters and approaches. 



51 



SCENE SIXTH. 



WM.--Why, heah I was gin'ral! Don ye see me, 

right heah at'o' you ? 

Gen. Wash.— What's the hour William ? 

Wm. — Purty lieah done gone inornin fo' shuah. Gin- 
'ral, cle roosters ere wed some time ago ! I beared dem 
wid my own ears. Phew, golly molly, jes heah dat wind 
whistle an' talk in dat chimney ! Fo' shuah I belieb dere's 
is spooks in dis ole house, Gin'ral ! I hea' all sorts 
of nizes. I wish I was back in old Virginny, I do ! Phew ! 
dat wind cry jis like a real human pusson ! Gin'ral ! 
Gin'ral ! Gin'ral ! 

Gen. Wash, (rousing from his reverie). — W 7 hat is it, 
my good man ? 

Wm. — Don you dink dose red coats will git sick ob 
deir job afo' long an clar out ob our kentry, so dat we kin 
go back to deah ole Mount Wernon an' hab peace an' 
quiet once more in de family? 

Gex. Wash. — God grant it may come soon, soon, soon. 

Wm. (aside). — Poo' Massa Washington, he werry sor- 
rowful to night ; inus' try to cheer him up a little. (Loud.) 
De odder night, gin'ral, I dreamed I see close red coats 
m archin', marchin', marchin' away out ob de land, an' I 
fought I heerd you say : " Come Willum, my boy. de war 
is all ober now ; no more fightin' wid nobody ; let's go 
home to ole Virginny ! " An so we come at last to de ole 
homestead on de banks ob de ribber, an' I fought I seed 
you sittin' on de pizarro jus' as you used to sit a long, 
long time ago, lookin' so pleased and happy, and I fought 
I heerd you say : " Willum, take your banjo and sing me 
dat ole song I used to lub so to heah ;" an' I fought I seed 
dat brack face of mine all covered ober wid smiles ob joy 
when I heerd you say : " Take de ole banjo an' sing me 
dat ole song I used to lub so to heah ;" and den, I fought 
I did take dat ole banjo, jis dis way (takes a banjo out 
from under the table), an' den I fought I set dow r n by you, 
jes dis way, and den I commenced for to sing. 

[Sings a plaintive negro melody. 

Gex. Wash. — Give me your hand, W r illiam ! 

Wm. — Why, Massa Washington, I mean gin'ral, I 



58 

hab'nt done noffin wrong liab I ? deah Massa Washing- 
ton, I'm berry sorry ; I am fo' shuah ! 

Gen. Wash. — Give it to me I say ! 

[ William obeys slowly and tremblingly. 

Gen. Wash. — What matters it how black the hand may 
be if but the heart be pure and good ! 

Wm. {aside). — Heah dat, now, heah dat scoldin' I'm 
gittin', yes, I deserb it, ebbery word ob it ! Massa Wash- 
ton is berry angry wid me ! 

Gen. Wash. — Tell me, William, my good man, where 
were you born ? 

Wm. — Why, Massa Washington, de fust birf-place dat 
I can perzactly recklemember was way down souf in de 
Carolinas. I was a berry bad boy an' made de ole folks 
cry ebbery day. It almost broke my heart to dink of 
dose days now. I wish I could be born ober again, dear 
massa. I'd make it all right wid de old folks dis time ! 

Gen. Wash. — And do you know if they are living still ? 

Wm. — Oh, no, no, no, Massa Washington, dey done 
gone to de bressed happy land long, long ago ! I see deir 
brack faces lookin' down at me sometimes when I'm 
done gone asleep, but — but . 

Gen. Wash. — Well, speak, what is it ? 

Wm. — But Susie, she ain't dead yet. 

Gen. Wash. — Ah, you had a sister then ? 

Wm. — Oh, no, Massa Washington, Susie was my wife, 
she was de mudder ob my little pickaninny, Zip, jis as 
libely as a coon an cunnin' as a possum. But one day 
ole massa eat too much water-melon and so he went feet 
fust, toes up, and den, an' den— dey took Susie away 
from me — and dey took little Zip too, fo' dey saidde lit- 
tle coon would die if dey took him from his mudder, and 
so dey sold dem boof — an' I never seed dem no more — 
no more — 

Gen. Wash, (springing to Ms feet). — 
Accursed trade ! that blights the soul and spreads 
The leprosy of greed from heart to heart ! 
William ! my good and faithful man, I can 
Confide in you ! I've proved your heart ! Know, then, 
That by my will, I set my bondmen free 
Upon my wife's decease ! but unto you, 
I give immediate freedom in my will ! 



59 

Old faithful friend of mine, you shall not seive 
Another master ! when I'm gone you will 
Be free ! May heaven prolong your days in peacs 
And health until the fullest measure has 
Been yours ! 

Wm. — No, no, Massa George, no, no ! Don't talk dat 
way, I don't nebber want no freedom no how ! I stay wid 
you till de angels say : " Hello dar, Willum, it's time to 
come up, ole man! " an' if you go fust, Massa George, to 
de bressed. happy land, I'll join you dar afo' long. When 
Massa George is done gone away fo' ebber, den I want 
to go too ; den I want to lay dese ole bones down in some 
quiet corner ob de church-yard — fo' I shant hab no more 
use fo' dem — an' go lib wid you in de land of de sliinin' 
ribber. I'll be your slave up dar too, Massa Washing- 
ton — 

Gen. Wash. — Silence ! (A pause.) Call Col. Hamilton. 
Sentry (outside). — Twelve is the clock ! twelve is 
the clock, and all is well ! 

[ The ivind moans, the storm increases. 
Gen. Wash. — Oh, wild, tempestuous night, thy wail 
shall be 
His requiem, for now my heart's at peace 
With God and man. 

[A bell strikes, during which Washington paces 
slowly towards the table. 
(Se zing the pen.) — I hear and I obey! 

[As Washington signs the sentence, Mrs. Arnold ap- 
pears at the side with disheveled hair and ivild 
mien. Martha Washington enters from oppo- 
site side. 
Ham. (advancing to the table.) — When shall the prisoner 
die? 

Gen. Wash. — To-morrow, at sundown ! 
Mrs. A. (rushing wildly forward.) — Mercy! mercy! 
mercy ! 
Sentry (outside). — All is well! 

[Mrs. Arnold falls senseless. JViliiam advances 
toward her. Curtain on tableau. 

End of Act Fourth. 



60 



1783. 



^lCT FIFTH. 

Fbancis T a ye en New York. 

SCENE FIRST. 

A Room in the Tavern. 

Enter Parson Caldwell, in the garb of a country parson, 
brandishing a cane. William retreating before him. 

Parson. — Joshua smote the Amorites, Gideon smote 
the Midianites, Samson smote the Gazites, David smote 
the Amalakites and George Washington smote the 
Albionites, surnamed the " Red Coats," surnamed the 
"Britishers," that do dwell in an exceeding small island 
beyond the seas. Yea, verily. Come hither, thou dusky 
son of Africa. I would speak with the mighty man of 
valor, the " Great Captain." Why is his chariot so long 
in coming? Why tarry the wheels of his chariot ? Come 
hither, Oh gentle Ethiopian, and impart unto mine ear 
the whereabouts of the glorious leader, than whom 
among the children of Israel there is no goodlier person. 
From the shoulders and upwards he is higher than any 
of the people. Yea, verily. 

Wm.— Sah? 

Parson. — Yea, verily, even as King Ahaz called unto 
Tiglath Pileser, king of Assyria, so the king of England 
called unto the rulers of the Hessians for help. But the 
Hessians distressed the King of England and strength- 



61 



ened him not, for verity George Washington smote the 
Hessians under the fifth rib and despoiled them of their 
substance. And now, behold, they go down to the sea 
in their ships, exceeding wroth, and much dissatisfied 
with themselves and with us. Tea, verily. I would 
speak with the valiant leader, who hath overcome Gog 
of the land of Magog, the chief prince of Mesheck and 
Tubal. Yea, verily ! 

Wm.— Sah? 

Parson. — Yea, verily, I would speak with the mighty 
man of valor, the chiefest among us, even George Wash- 
ington. . 

Wm. — Can't do it, sah. De gin'ral receibs no one dis 
mornin'. Can't do it, sah, I say. 

Parson (brandishing his cane). — Bridle thy tongue, Oh 
son of the land of bullrushes, Oh mild mannered Ethi- 
opian, lest I wax wroth and smite thee with my staff. 

Wm. — Take car' dar, sah! Play light, wid dat brack 
stick, or I'll call de guard. What's de matter wid de 
man? Take car dar! Shoo! Go 'way, sah! 

Parson. — Verily, thou dusky son of the land of bull- 
rushes, I'll smite thee if thou dost not announce my 
coming to the general. Yea, verily, thou deceitful Ethi- 
opian! I am a man of peace, but verily the blood of my 
veins is waxing warm. [Brandishing his stick. 

Wm. (retreating). — Take car' dar, man ! Put down dat 
brack stick, or I'll call de guard ! Shoo ! Go way ! I 
tell you de gin'ral gib no aujience dis morning. Haul in 
dat brack stick, sah ! 

Parson. — Verily, satan hath filled thine heart to lie ! 
Thou insidious Ethiopian ! Thou shalt suffer flagella- 
tion ! Yea, verily ! [Pursues him. 

Wm. — Take car dah, man! Stop, stay back, haul in 
dat brack stick ! Shoo ! Go way ! Don' ye heah! Take 
car', sah ! What you mean, sah! Shoo! Stay back, 
sah ! 

SCENE SECOND. 

Baron. — Hey, da! Hey, da! Villiam ! Villiam ! 
I will speak mit der Sheneral ! (Entering.) Ach, mein 
goot friend der Parson, vat brays mit a sword and 
breaches mit a musket ! Shook hands mit me ! 



62 

Parson. — Noble German man ! Salutation and greet- 
ing! Peace and prosperity abide with thee and thy 
household, tlry servants and thy handmaidens till the 
end ! Yea, verily! 

Baron. — Vy, vy, vy ! How vos dot peen any vay, you 
couldn't fix it, hey? You tidn't have got yourself tied to 
no sword ! Your shoulder vos not been got under no 
musket? 

Parson. — Yea, verily, I have beat my sword into a 
plough-share and my spear into a pruning-hook! Verily 
these are the habiliments of peace, mcst worthy German 
man ! No more shall the reel horse of war and he that 
sitteth thereon take peace from our land, nor shall the 
people kill one another any more, for, verily, there is a 
time to love and a time to hate, a time of war and a time 
of peace ! Yea, verily, most valiant German man ! 

Baron. — Yell, Barson, I told you now, I vos been ferry 
glad de var vos come mit her end ; shook hands mit me, 
my olt friend ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, my soul rejoiceth! (Skipping 
about.) Sing, O daughter ofZion! Shout oh Israel! Be 
glad and rejoice with all thine heart, O daughter of Jeru- 
salem ! 

Baron. — Ha, ha! Mein freund, I vos peen ferry glat 
to see you shump for shoy ! Put, my tear old freund, 
you tidn't have got no pizness now ! Vat shall you do, 
hej, to make your putter and bread ? Hey, mine pully 
breacher, told me dat ? 

Parson. — Verily, I shall betake myself to the Jer.seys, 
whence I came, and shall administer unto sick and weary 
souls, even as I did in the olden time, and I shall pursue 
the peaceful avocation of agriculture; yea, verily, I shall 
raise ring-streaked, speckled and spotted William goats 
and brown cattle ! Yea, verily, I shall plant red pot- 
tage, an abundance thereof, and if thou wilt visit me, 
most admirable German man, I'll set before thee red pot- 
tage, well sodden, and a firstling of my flocks and the 
fat thereof, and thou shalt eat thereof, and drink of the 
unfermented juice of the apple, and be merry ! But no 
wine or strong chink shall I set before thee, for just as 
sure as the churning of milk bringeth forth butter, or the 
wringing of the nose bringeth forth blood, so does the 



63 

partaking of wine and strong drink end in riot and dis- 
turbance ! Yea, verily ! 

Baron. — Veil, I dinks I excepts dat leetle inwitation, 
mein freund. I dinks I vent over and saw you a leetle 
in dose Sharseys. 

Parson. — Heartfelt thanks, most excellent German 
man. Thou shalt be welcome, and abide with me in my 
humble habitation. Yea, verily, for better is a handful 
with quietness than both hands full with travail and vex- 
ation of spirit. Yea, verily ! 

Baron. — Yes, mein freund, dat vos peen ferry drue ! 
Better have a empty head osh a empty stomach — hey, 
pully breacher? 

Parson. — Ha, ha, ha ! Yea, verily, thine observations 
are spiced with much of wit and humor. They tickle 
my diaphragm, and cause me to burst into exceediug 
mirth. Ha, ha, ha ! 

Baron. — Ha, ha, ha ! pully breacher ! Dat vos peen 
right ; laugh and shump for shoy! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, most lovable German man. I 
will gambol and be rejoiced, for we have hanged the 
British lion on an exceeding high and exceeding sour 
apple-tree, fifty cubits at least, even as high as Ahasuerus 
hanged Ham an ! 

Baron. — Ha, ha, ha ! mein freund, you vos always been 
a pully breacher, any vay you couldn't fix it. Ha, ha, 
ha ! mein heart was filled mit shoy. I feel as lively as a 
grasshopper ! I could shump as high as a gricket ! 

Parson. — Yea, verily, most generous German man, my 
heart is likewise full of gladness. Even as David danced 
with all his might, so will I gambol and leap about in my 
joy ! [Skips about. 

Baron. — Ha, ha ! mein freund, der pully breacher, shook 
hands mit me. Ha, ha, ha ! Giss me on de sheek ! 

Parson.— Yea, verily, I will greet thee with a kiss of 
thanksgiving and gladness. 

(They kiss and then dance about. 

Baron. — Stop a leetle, stop a leetle, mein freund. 
Mein goodness gracious ! mein pcdy all come out of 
my breath ! Phew ! I didn't have got no vind left. 
Phew ! Stop a leetle, I forgot to make my peezness here, 
I will speak mit our tear Sheneral ! 



64 

Parson. — Yea, verily, most amiable German man, with 
like intent came I hither. Lo ! the Ethiopian abideth 
in the corridor ; let us summon him and make inquiry. 

Baron (calling). — Hey da, Villiam! hey da! Vere you 
vos peen all der vile? I vill speak a leetle mit der 
Sheneral. 

Parson. — Ho, good Ethiopian, faithful servitor, attend, 
approach, give ear. 

Enter William. 

Baron. — Villiam, my poy, ve vill speak mit der 
Sheneral. 

Parson. — Gentle Ethiopian, this most dutiful German 
man and myself, behold we crave his Excellency's per- 
mission to stand before him and pay our homage ! 

Wi- Sorry, gemmen, bnt I hab de strictest orders to 
admit no one. De gin'ral berry much occlepied. 

Parson. — Verily, these words are as bitter to mine ear 
as the waters of Marah to the lips ! Most honored Ger- 
man man, we must depart with sorrowing hearts, and 
await the pleasure of our beloved Commander. Yea, 
verily ! 

Baron. — Yes, mein freund, ve must vent home mit salt 
water in our eye ! Hey, da ! Villiam ! Villiam ! 

[He turns to William in dumb-show ; 
his sword gets between the parsons legs. 

Parson (embarrassed). — Verily, the accoutrements 
of war have become entangled with my peaceful and 
unoffending limbs ! I will sojourn in this abode no longer ! 
The abomination of desolation overtaketh me ! Harken 
unto me, most admirable German man ! Verily, he doth 
converse so intently with the gentle Ethiopian that he 
heareth me not ! (Very loud.) Give ear unto my voice, 
most illustrious German man ! 

Baron. — Veil, veil, mein friend, vot vos been der mat- 
ter mit you ? 

Parson. — Verily, I will sojourn in this abode no longer, 
most judicious German man ! 

Baron. — Veil, veil, mein freind, come, vent home mit 
me and drink a leetle glass of Rhine vine to our shener- 
al's health ! 

Parson. — Nay, nay, most hospitable German man, I 
will partake of no fermented wine nor strong drink, it 



65 

worketh abomination in my stomach and setteth a flame 
in my blood ; it causeth me to regret that I was ever born, 
and maketh mv tongue to cleave to the roof of my mouth. 
When I arise from my couch it visiteth me with remorse 
and with a thirst that is exceeding difficult to quench, 
even as the thirst of the rich man who beheld Abraham 
afar off and Lazarus in his bosom ! Nay, most enticing 
German man, I will betake myself to the land of Jersey, 
which is beyond the river called Hudson's, and sojourn 
among my kindred ! Yea, verily ! 

Baron. — Yell, mein freund, shook hands mit me ! May 
you be happy till I saw you again once more! Goot pye, 
pully breacher. Take me in your bosom and giss me on 
the sheek! 

Parson — Yea, veril}-, I will salute thee, with a friendly 
kiss ! Fare thee well, genial German man. Even as Jeshu- 
ron waxed fat and kicked, so may you grow thick, and 
may fatness cover you ! Fare thee well ; yea, verily, fare 
thee well ! 

Baron. — Goot pye ! goot pye ! " dear, ole pully breacher, 
Took goot care mit yourself ! 

[They pass out. 

SCENE THIRD. 

Enter Washington, reading a letter. 
" Our freedom is achieved, but not secured ! 
'Twas common danger held these colonies 
So firmly bound together : that is past! 
To you, illustrious sir, the people turn. 
You are the idol of the army : speak 
And you shall be obeyed ! A sceptre lies 
Within your grasp, a crown awaits your brow : 
Reach out and seize the royal diadem ! 
The nation will consent, the world applaud ! 
Build up a broad and mighty empire 'neath 
These western skies and wear its crown ! Fear naught, 
The hour has come ! Be quick, be strong, be king ! " 

[He paces the floor excitedly. 
I hear the message, but I heed it not ! 
Will royal mantle still my troubled heart 
When dark remorse has robbed it of its rest ? 
Can jeweled crown give peace to anxious mind 



66 






That holds remembrance of its wrongful deeds? 

Be kiug, say'st thou ? I hear thy voice, beloved 

Mount Vernon, calling loud and clear ! Be not 

Afraid. I would not barter 'way thy shores 

And groves, thy brooks and fields, thy peace and love, 

To wear the brightest crown that ever graced 

A monarch's brow ! Who bids me, then, be king ? 

Be king ? ay, true, my countrymen I would 

Be king, and reign in your affections with 

Unrivaled sway, your hearts my throne, your love 

My crown and your respect the sceptre I 

Would wield ! What, cry you still " Be king, be king ! " 

O dream of kingly power and regal state 

That buildest up so dazzling bright and fair, 

Thy silken cords are chains, thy crown is wound 

With thorns, tliy palaces are prisons, no, 

No, no, I will not enter in ! 

[Tears theletter and throivs the pieces into the fire. 
Enter Officer. 

Officer (Saluting). — .The generals of the American 
army. 

Gen. Wash. — Admit them ! 

[A pause. 

SCENE FOURTH. 

Enter General Greene, General Knox, Marquis de 
La Fayette, Baron Steuben, Col. Hamilton and 
other officers. They salute Washington respectfully. 
Gen. Wash. — Companions in arms ! 
'Tis eight long years since Concord's plains first drank 
Of patriot blood, and yet methinks thro' all 
That time no deeper shadow ever hung 
About my soul than shrouds it now ; for I 
Have summoned you to speak a last farewell ! 
Yes, loyal hearts, whom these long years of hope 
And fear have knit so close to mine, the end 
Has come at last, and England's monarch speaks 
Us free and independent States ! My task 
Is done ! From hence I hasten to the Halls 
Of Congress ; there surrender up the high 
And sacred trust I've held so long, and crave 
Consent from that august assemblage to 



67 

Become once more a simple citizen ! 

O, would my lips had power to tell the love 

And gratitude with which I take my leave 

Of you ! Come, gather round me once again, 

My chosen friends, and let me feel the grasp 

Of each one's hand before I go from hence ! 

You, General La Fayette, Oh noble name 

Yet nobler heart, whom two worlds love ; the young 

Eepublic's friend, my friend, my son, this is 

The place for you {opens his arms) ; farewell, farewell ! 

La Fay. — Farewell, beloved commander, fare you well. 

Geo. Wash, (to the others). — Farewell, farewell ! 

Steuben. — Farewell, noblest and best of men ! 

Greene. — God bless George Washington ! 

Parson, (rushing forward and grasping Washington by 
the hand). — Amen ! So mote it be ! Yea, verily ! 
Tableau. 

SCENE FIFTH. 

A Street in New York. 
Hags, triumphal arches, cheering, music and chimes. T e 
music draws near and passes across the stage ; then 
appear Washington s body-guard, and following them a 
troop of children and Washington on horseback. The 
children, clad in pure white, strew flowers in front of 
the hero and sing : 

" Welcome, mighty chief, once more, 
Welcome to this grateful shore, 
Now no mercenary foe 
Aims again the fatal blow, 
Aims at thee the fatal blow ! 
Virgins fair and matrons grave, 
These thy conquering arms did save, 
Build for thee triumphal bowers ; 
Strew, ye fair, his way with flowers, 
Strew your hero's way with flowers." 
William icalks beside Washington's horse. Hamilton and 
other aids follow their general Scene tvithdrawn. 
Capitol at Washington disclosed. Curtain falls upon 
the tableau. 

End of Act Fifth and of the Drama. 





Washington: 



A Heroic Drama of the Revolution. 



IN FIVE ACTS 



INGERSOLL LOCKWOOD, 



PRICE, 50 CENTS. 



PUBLISHED BY THE AUTHOR 

No. 128 Broadway, 

NEW YORK. 





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